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Uniform with this Volume, 

TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
By Charles and Mary Lamb. 
Two volumes in one. i6mo. 
Cloth, gilt top, illustrated, price, 



•A0V.(VAV1\ '\0 V.A^Vl^ '('A'A';\\K AVi'\ 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



TALES FROM 
HAKSPEARE 

By HARRISON 
S. 'MORRIS ¥ ¥ 




ILLUSTRATED 



TWO VOLUMES IN ONE 






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OF Wh 



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1017 



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PHILADELPHIA 

3^. 3S. Hipjaincott Compang 



MDCCCXCIV 



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77f Ag77 
. POL 



Copyright, 1893 and 1894 

BY 

J. B. LippiNcoTT Company. 



Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 



PREFACE. 



I^yi OTHING could better testify to the peren- 
1 >l nial charm of Charles and Mary Lamb's 
Tales from Shakspeare than the fact that during 
the eighty-six years between the issue of the first 
edition in 1807 and the present time there have 
been put forth more than fifty editions, and that 
each year brings a new contribution to the store. 

In their sincere and simple preface the brother 
and sister, now grown so famous, said that their 
chief aim was to provide an introduction to the 
study of Shakspeare for the young reader ; but 
this purpose was carried out by them with such 
delicate art and critical insight that the group of 
plays intended for children have become the treas- 
ured resource of students, as well as an elevated 
pleasure for readers to whom books are an enjoy- 
ment pure and simple. 

Owing perhaps to the wishes of their publisher, 
who desired to include an equal and limited num- 
ber of plays in each of the small original volumes, 
or from some other practical difficulty, or as a 
matter of personal taste, Charles and Mary Lamb 
treated only twenty of the thirty-six plays of Shak- 



VI PREFACE. 

speare, leaving sixteen others which have not until 
the present time been rendered into prose. 

While of a necessity these sixteen additional 
plays, included in the present volume, must come 
into comparison with the inimitable tales of Elia 
and his gifted sister, yet the writer trusts that his 
purpose may not be misapprehended ; and he asks 
to be freed from the charge of inviting such a con- 
trast, or of deeming his imperfect continuation as 
in any wise worthy of a place beside the versions 
made by Charles and Mary Lamb. Far from de- 
siring to put himself in so unenviable a light, he 
hastens to forestall such an inference by avowing 
that the aim with which the continuation has been 
made is the same which inspired the first project, — 
a wish to provide the means for readers, old and 
young, to gain a knowledge of Shakspeare while 
from lack of time or training they are not able to 
find their way through the ''wild poetic garden" 
for themselves. Coupled with this was the desire 
to supplement the uncompleted work, not with 
tales the equal of the originals in grace, wisdom, or 
critical penetration, but with such as at least might 
be accepted as a help to that part of Shakspeare, 
and no unimportant part it is, left untouched by 
the earlier authors. 

In undertaking such a task, the veneration felt 
for the well-loved brother and sister — and perhaps 
a sense of the humour of the situation, which 
none would have relished more quickly than they 
— was not the only deterring influence. With their 



PREFACE. VU 

wise foresight and sense of the fitness of things, 
having twenty plays of Shakspeare to abridge, 
they chose those in all respects adapted to their 
purpose, and omitted just such examples as were 
most difficult to turn into intelligible prose versions. 
Says Canon Ainger, the best and most sympathetic 
editor of Lamb, * ' The whole series of English his- 
tories is left unattempted, as well as the Roman 
plays ; and of the few that remain, ' Love's La- 
bour's Lost' is the only one the reason for whose 
omission is not quite obvious. ' ' 

This, then, will serve to show under what diffi- 
culties the additional tales, forming the present 
volume, have been turned into prose. To bring. 
Falstaff, the chartered libertine of Elizabethan 
slang, into juvenile phrase ; to weave the broken 
dramatic scenes of the Wars of the Roses into 
even-pacing narrative ; and to conquer the heroic 
periods of the unconquerable Romans, is a task 
beset with difficulties ; • and if the adventurer in 
this untried field has succeeded so far as to make 
acceptable reductions of these immortal dramas, 
he has but to reckon with the shades of Elia and 
of Bridget Elia, and with the mightier phantom of 
Shakspeare, to whose benign mercies he trusts his 
readers will consent to leave him. 

H. S. M. 

Philadelphia, 1892. 



CONTENTS, VOLUME I. 



PAGB 

Love's Labour's Lost 7 

Merry Wives of Windsor 31 

Troilus and Cressida 53 

King John 75 

King Richard IL ^ . 99 

King Henry IV. — Part 1 123 

King Henry IV. — Part II 149 

King Henry V. 177 



IX 



ILLUSTRATIONS, VOLUME L 



PAGB 



The Merry Wives of Windsor . . . Frontispiece. 

y King John 75 

^' King Henry IV. — Part 1 123 

</king Henry V '77 



XI 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



IT was the pleasant whim of the king of Navarre 
and his friends, the Lords Biron, Longaville, 
and Dumain, to vow one day that they would 
devote themselves to study for three years and 
see no woman during all that time. Their court, 
said the king, should be a little Academe, and 
Navarre the wonder of the world, for they would 
war against their affections and desires and live a 
contemplative life. 

When the time came for subscribing their names 
to this agreement, Longaville and Dumain were 
ready to do it without delay; but Biron held out, 
being of a gallant nature and loving the company 
of ladies, as secretly did all the rest, and was for 
argument and amendment of the plan. He was 
willing, he said, to live secluded and study for 
three years; but there were other strict observ- 
ances, such as not to see a woman during that 
term; not to touch food on one day in each 
week; to take but one meal every day, and to 
sleep only three hours in the night, yet not be 
seen to wink through the morning. These things 

7 



8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

he said he wished might not be enrolled in the 
bond, for they were barren tasks and too hard to 
keep. 

The king made answer that Biron's oath was 
already passed, but the reluctant lord replied that 
he had sworn to no conditions, saving only to 
study and stay three years in the court. 

Then the others in chorus vowed that he had 
sworn to all the conditions, but he held that it 
was only in jest. "What, after all, is the end of 
study ?' ' asked Biron. ' ' To know that which 
else you should not know," answered the king. 

At this the gay Lord Biron turned the subject, 
which was growing serious, with a jest, and said 
he would study, then, the things he was forbidden 
to know, as where he might dine well when he 
was expressly bidden to fast; or where to meet 
some lady when he was denied her company; or, 
having sworn to a crabbed oath, study how to 
break it. * ' Swear me to this, ' ' quoth he, ' ' and 
I will never say no." 

He would not listen to the chiding of the king, 
but railed on pleasantly, like the merry-hearted 
gentleman he was. * * Study, ' ' he said, * ' is like the 
heaven's glorious sun, that will not be searched by 
saucy glances; and, moreover, continual plodders 
have won little enough from their books saving 
base authority. The earthly godfathers that give 
the names to the stars have no more profit from 
their shining than common folk that do not know 
what they are. To know too much is to get 



love's labour's lost. 9 

nothing but fame, which is cheap enough, since 
every godfather can give it." 

Hereupon the three others began to rally Biron 
for his show of the very knowledge he mocked at; 
but he held his own in the passage of wit, and at 
last the king was forced to cry, ' * Well, go home, 
then, Biron, if you will. Adieu !" and was for 
bowing him out of the compact. But here the 
true-heartedness of Biron showed itself through 
his gaiety, for he said, * ' No, my good lord ; I 
have sworn to stay with you, and, though I have 
spoken more for barbarism than you can say for 
the angel knowledge, yet I'll keep my oath and 
bide the penance." He took the paper and began 
to read it aloud: 

''Item, That no woman shall come within a 
mile of my court, on pain of losing her tongue. 

"Item, If any man be seen to walk with a 
woman within the term of three years he shall 
endure such public shame as the rest of the court 
shall possibly devise." 

Here, looking up, Biron said to the king, ** My 
liege, you must break this article yourself, for 
well you know that the French king's daughter 
comes here in embassy to speak with you about the 
surrender of Aquitain to her bed-ridden father." 

Biron now enjoyed a merry triumph, for the 
king was in dismay. The visit of the princess 
had been forgotten, but her mission was of too 
much importance to be put aside. The king was 
for dispensing with his decree and entertaining her 



%0 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

within his court on the plea of necessity; but Biron 
took advantage of his weakness, quickly signed the 
bond, and proclaimed, mockingly, that if he were 
ever forsworn it would be purely from necessity. 

While all this was happening the princess ap- 
proached the court of Navarre and sent forward 
her courtier, Boyet, to tell the king of her arrival. 
She had in her train, besides this gallant gentle- 
man, the ladies Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine, 
— all light of heart and nimble of wit, — and with 
these and the other lords of her household she 
gossiped of the king of Navarre and his friends 
until Boyet' s return. He came back presently 
with the information that the king had received 
notice of her approach and was well addressed to 
meet her, but that he meant to lodge her in the 
fields rather than seek a dispensation of his oath. 

As Boyet was telling this to his mistress, the 
king drew near and welcomed her warmly to his 
court of Navarre. She haughtily gave him back 
his fair words, and, as for welcome, she said she 
had yet found none, for the roof of the court of 
open air under which they stood was too high to 
be his, and welcome to the wide fields too base 
to be hers. This twinged the king shrewdly, and 
he hastened to offer her welcome to his proper 
court; upon which she asked him to conduct her 
thither. Then he told her of his oath, which she 
pretended to be ignorant of, and she fell to rallying 
him and was much vexed, asking that he suddenly 
give his decision in her suit and let her go. 



LOVES LABOUR S LOST. JLi 

While the king was reading the paper which 
the princess now gave him, his friends mingled 
with the ladies, and each found his match in wit; 
but when Navarre had finished the paper, he hushed 
their banter by some grave words to the princess. 
''Madam," he said, "your father here intimates 
the payment of a hundred thousand crowns, which 
is but the one-half of an entire sum disbursed by 
my father in his wars. But say that we have 
received that amount, though we have not, there 
yet remains unpaid another hundred thousand, in 
surety of which one part of Aquitain is bound to 
us, although it is not valued at the money's worth. 
If, then, your father, the king, will restore a half 
of what is unsatisfied, we will give up our right in 
Aquitain, and hold fair friendship with him. But 
it seems he does not purpose even this, for here 
he demands to have a hundred thousand pounds 
repaid, and to leave Aquitain in our possession, 
which we had much rather give up and have back 
the money lent by our father. ' ' 

Following this, the king said some courtly words 
to the princess ; but she resented his words about 
her father and insisted that the sum he demanded 
had been paid. This Navarre professed never to 
have heard of, but he said if she could prove it 
he would pay it back or yield up Aquitain. 

The princess quickly took him at his word and 
appealed to Boyet to produce acquittances from 
the king's father for such a sum. Boyet told her 
that the package wherein that and other specialties 



12 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

were bound had not come, but that to-morrow she 
should have a sight of it. Hereupon the king said 
he would wait, and in the mean time offered such 
welcome as he could, without breach of honour, 
tender to her. ' ' You may not come within my 
gates, fair princess," said he, ''but here without 
you shall be so received as you shall deem your- 
self lodged in my heart." Then the king and his 
attendants bade the ladies farewell and parted for 
the court, but not without a passage of wit be- 
tween the ladies attendant on the princess and the 
gay courtiers of Navarre. 

Now, there was one other who had taken the 
king's oath of a three years' studious life. He 
had been chosen because of his droll and fantastic 
humours. He was described by the king as a re- 
fined traveller from Spain, a man planted in the 
world's newest fashion, who had a mint of phrases 
in his brain. He was, in truth, one who was rav- 
ished by the music of his own vain tongue. This 
was Don Adriano de Armado, and he was wel- 
comed into the fellowship of study because, as the 
king said, he might relate the worth of many a 
knight from tawny Spain, and thus he with Cos- 
tard the swain could make them sport when they 
desired it in their solitude. 

It happened that Armado had by the king's 
command placed Costard in durance because of 
his unlawful conduct with Jaquenetta, a country 
wench. But Don Armado, in his turn, had also 
become enamoured of Jaquenetta and he deter- 



love's labour's lost. 13 

mined to employ Costard to bear a letter to her. 
For this service he gave the swain his liberty and 
sent him on his way. 

Before very long Costard was met by Lord 
Biron, who also employed him to deliver a sealed- 
up letter, which he explained was for Rosaline, 
who might be overtaken when she came to the 
park to hunt on that afternoon. Costard took his 
guerdon and went onward, but Biron lingered 
under the trees and reproached himself, — he that 
had been love's whip, a very beadle to a humor- 
ous sigh, a critic ; nay, a night-watch constable ; 
a domineering pedant over Cupid — he to be in 
love! "What," quoth he, " I love! I sue! I seek 
a wife! a woman like a German clock, still repair- 
ing, ever out of frame, and never going aright! 
Nay, but to be perjured is worst of all, and among 
three to love the worst of all!" Then he fell to 
reviling his lady-love in playful bitterness, but he 
was past cure, for Cupid had, in very truth, in 
return for his neglect, imposed a plague which 
there was no escaping. 

At the time appointed by the king, who desired 
to entertain his guests as best he could while still 
remaining true to his oath, the princess and her 
retinue were led abroad by one of the royal for- 
esters to a hunt in the park; and, as Biron had 
directed. Costard followed the train and attempted 
to deliver Biron' s letter to the lady Rosaline. He 
asked the princess, with a loutish bow, which was 
the head lady; and, as she said she was, he an- 

2 



14 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

nounced that he had a letter from one Monsieur 
Biron to one Lady Rosaline. Hereupon the prin- 
cess demanded the letter, and it was handed to 
Boyet, who, looking at the superscription, said, 
* * This letter is mistook. It importeth none here. 
It is writ to Jaquenetta ;' ' for the silly swain had 
delivered Don Armado's letter instead of Lord 
Biron' s. The princess commanded that the wax 
be broken; and the Spanish don's letter, full of 
hard words and bombastic phrases, was read amid 
peals of laughter. 

Then the princess called Costard: **Thou fel- 
low, a word: Who gave thee this letter?" The 
swain answered that my lord had given it to him, 
and that it was from my lord to my lady. * * From 
which lord to which lady?" said the princess. 
** From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, to 
a lady of France that he called Rosaline. " * * Thou 
hast mistaken his letter," said the princess, and 
she and her train rode gaily away. 

Strolling through the park after them came 
Jaquenetta and Costard, who were overtaken by 
two men very learned in their own conceit, — 
namely, Holofernes, a schoolmaster, and Sir Na- 
thaniel, a curate, with whom was Dull, the con- 
stable, Jaquenetta interrupted the pompous dis- 
course of these two and asked the parson to be so 
good as to read her a letter which she held forth 
to him. It was given her by Costard, she said, 
and was sent her from Don Armatho, as she mis- 
called her Spanish suitor. 



love's labour's lost. i$ 

Sir Nathaniel, urged by Holofernes, began to 
,read the letter aloud, which was really that of 
Lord Biron to Rosaline. It was in verse, and 
breathed a great love to that lady, calling her by 
many endearing names. ' * But, damosella vir- 
gin," asked Holofernes, in his high-flown speech, 
' * was this directed to you ?' ' Jaquenetta answered 
that it was; but upon looking at the superscription, 
Holofernes found the true address: "To the snow- 
white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline," 
and, turning to Jaquenetta, he bade her go deliver 
it into the hands of the king, for, seeing that Lord 
Biron had entered into compact with the king for 
three years' withdrawal from womankind, it might 
concern him much. Taking Costard with her, 
Jaquenetta thereupon hurried away, and the two 
pedants strolled on in fantastical converse. 

After all these were gone, Biron came through 
the trees with a paper in his hand, much berating 
himself for having, in self-despite, fallen madly in 
love. "By the world," he muttered, "I would 
not care a pin if the other three were in," for this 
was his only hope of escape from his hard bargain. 
But at that moment he saw one of his vow-fellows 
coming forward, also with a paper in his hand. 
To conceal his own embarrassment, and secretly 
to learn, at the same time, what had happened to 
the king, for it was he who approached, Biron 
climbed into a tree and screened himself among 
its thick leaves. "Ah, me!" sighed the melan- 
choly king, and Lord Biron, in his high perchj 



16 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

whispered to himself, with inward satisfaction, 
''Shot, by Heaven!" 

The king then began to read aloud a set of 
verses made to a lady whose beauty he placed 
above the sun and moon; but, alas! she would 
still make him weep. He was about to drop the 
paper, addressed to the princess, in the hope that 
she would find it, when he heard a footstep on the 
grass near to him, and stepped aside with his poem 
still in his hand. 

Just as the king disappeared in the deep shade 
of the trees, Longaville came through the trunks, 
reading aloud to himself. Biron above, among 
the leaves, mocked at them both under his 
breath and was mightily pleased to find his 
forlorn hope thus coming true. As Longaville re- 
proached himself for his faithlessness to his fellows, 
Biron and the king, unknown to each other, in- 
terjected their comment between his words, each 
after his own mood, for the king was sad at the 
miscarriage of his plan, but Biron, as usual, ap- 
peared to take it in a merry spirit. 

Longaville now read his verses aloud, which 
assured the fair lady that in addressing her he did 
not break his vow to forswear women, as she was 
a goddess. His vow was earthly, but she was a 
heavenly love. "What fool," he said, "is not 
wise enough to lose an oath in order to win a 
paradise ?" 

As Longaville finished this plausible piece of 
logic, and was wondering how he should send the 



love's labour's lost. 17 

missive to the lady it celebrated, forward came 
Dumain, also with a paper in his hand and also 
in the musing mien of a lover. Longaville 
stepped hastily aside when he saw his fellow- 
courtier, and he also in turn became an eaves- 
dropper. Biron from his perch laughed in his 
sleeve at them and thought how like it was to the 
old infant play of ' * All hid, ' ' while he sat in the 
sky like a demi-god, knowing the secrets of all 
the wretched fools below him. 

Dumain exclaimed, with a great sigh, *' O most 
divine Kate!" and Biron in his glee answered, 
aside, ''O most profound coxcomb!" Dumain 
continued to call his chosen lady by all sorts of 
fair names, as is the wont of lovers, and Biron 
mocked each sentence with some outlandish simile; 
but the others put in now and then a word of sym- 
pathy. At last Dumain began to read the ode he 
had been intent upon, and all were still, for it 
was one of the sweetest and archest of love-songs: 

" On a day (alack the day !), 
Love, whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom, passing fair, 
Playing in the wanton air. 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, 'gan passage find ; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; 
Air, would I might triumph so ! 
But, alack ! my hand is sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn. 
III. — b 2* 



1 8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Vow, alack ! for youth unmeet ; 
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Do not call it sin in me, 
That I am forsworn for thee : 
Thee for whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love." 

He ended with another sigh made up of satisfac- 
tion with his ode, of his hopeless suing, and of his 
pang for a broken vow ; then said he, "I will send 
this and something else more plain that shall ex- 
press my true love's ardour. O, would," he ex- 
claimed, "the king, Biron, and Longaville were 
lovers too!" 

Longaville could stand the suspense no longer. 
He advanced from the shadow of the trees and 
roundly chided his friend. " Dumain," he said, 
' ' your love is uncharitable that wants society in its 
grief You may look pale, but I should blush to 
be overheard and taken napping so." 

At this the king stepped out and confronted 
Longaville, who was as much astonished to have 
been discovered as Dumain. ''Come, sir," said 
the king to Longaville, ' ' Blush yourself; your case 
is the same as his, and in chiding him you offend 
twice." Then he went mercilessly over the words 
of Longaville' s sonnet to Maria, and told at last 
how he had been closely shrouded in the bushes 
and had marked the actions of both and blushed 
for them. * ' What will Biron say, ' ' he continued, 
"when he hears of these broken pledges ? Think 



LOVES LABOUR S LOST. IQ 

how he will scorn you and spend his wit upon you! 
How he will triumph, and leap, and laugh at it! 
I would not have him know so much of me for all 
the wealth I ever saw!" 

Biron now thought it was time to show himself. 
He descended from the tree where he had been 
in hiding, and straightway began to reproach the 
king. * ' Ah, good my liege, I pray pardon me, ' ' 
said he, with a dutiful bow; " but, good heart, what 
grace have you thus to reprove these worms for 
loving, who are yourself more in love than they ?' ' 
Then Biron, in turn, repeated all the conceits of 
the king's love-ditty, who was in dismay thus to 
be found out in the presence of those he had just 
condemned for committing his very fault. 

Biron, knowing the state of his own heart, re- 
joiced at the opportunity to cover his default by 
reproving it in the others. He rallied them and 
gave them good advice by turns. * * O, what a 
scene of foolery, ' ' he cried, ' * of sighs, groans, 
sorrow, and tears ! Where does your grief lie, tell 
me, good Dumain? Where is your pain, gentle 
Longaville ; and where is my liege' s ? All about 
the breast A caudle, ho!" 

* ' Your fun is too bitter, ' ' said the indignant 
king; but Biron ran on with laughter and mockery, 
asking at last, ''When did you ever know me to 
write a thing in rhyme? When did you ever 
hear me praise a hand, a foot, a face, or an eye ?' ' 
Yet like all who carry a jest beyond bounds, for 
none of us are without our faults, Biron' s banter 



20 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

at last brought him to shame. He was about to 
run away, still shaking his sides with laughter, 
when some one approached and he stopped an 
instant to learn who it was. 

"God bless the king!" said Jaquenetta, for it 
was she and Costard, who had come to seek his 
majesty with Biron's verses, as Holofernes had 
recommended. Jaquenetta begged that the letter 
which she handed to the king should be in his 
presence read, for the parson misdoubted that it 
was treason. The king gave the paper to Biron 
and asked him to read it, meanwhile questioning 
where it had come from. Costard said he had 
had it from Don Armado, upon which the king 
noticed that Biron was destroying it. "How 
now ! what are you doing ? Why do you tear 
it ?' ' he asked abruptly. ' ' A toy, my liege, a 
toy; your grace need not be alarmed," was Biron's 
evasive reply ; but it stood him in little stead, for 
Longaville had noticed how the paper moved him 
to passion, and Dumain picked up one of the 
pieces with Biron's name written upon it. Then 
Biron fell to cursing Costard, who had been born, 
he said, to do him shame; and, fairly beaten, he 
cried, ' ' Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I con- 
fess!" "What?" asked the king. "That you 
three fools lacked me to make up the sum. We 
are all pick-purses in love, my liege, and deserve 
to die." Costard hereupon, with scorn for all 
traitors, passed on with Jaquenetta and left the 
nobles to their mutual explanations. 



love's labour's lost. 21 

Biron and the king vied with one another in 
praise of their lady-loves until finally all fell to 
jeering at the choice of Biron, who defended his 
Rosaline like the gallant lover and wit he was. 
When they had pleasantly bantered each other thus 
for a long time, the king and the rest called upon 
Biron, in recognition of his nimble mind, to prove 
their loving to be lawful and their faith unbroken. 
This, in some noble words which showed him to 
be as deep in thought as he was light in converse, 
Biron quickly did after a manner which all ap- 
proved. Then the four lovers ran off to prepare 
some sport for their mistresses, Biron gaily sing- 
ing a song as they passed away under the trees. 

In the mean time the ladies had assembled in the 
Park, near the pavilion of the princess, and had 
read the verses sent them by their ardent wooers. 
As they stood under the shade, laughing lightly 
over these, Boyet approached in his gayest mood 
and asked eagerly for the princess. When she 
appeared he told her how he had lain down for 
rest half an hour under the cool shade of a syca- 
more, and there had overheard the king and his 
companions plotting to come thither disguised as 
Russians and make trial of the affections of their 
chosen mistresses. They had also planned to send 
forward in advance a pretty knavish page, whom 
they had well taught what he was to say. 

The ladies soon resolved that they would have 
a counter-device with which to meet the gallants. 
They straightway masked and changed favors, so 



22 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

that the king and his courtiers must each choose the 
wrong partner. They had hardly done this before 
the king's page came forward through the wood 
and hailed them as ' ' the richest beauties on the 
earth." This the ladies resented by turning their 
backs; but the page, who was quick in answers, 
made a happy retort, while Biron and the rest, who 
were behind him, urged him on to repeat the words 
they had taught him. Rosaline, disguised as the 
princess, and feigning not to know who these 
strangers were, asked Boyet to learn what they 
sought. They replied that they wanted nothing 
but peace and gentle visitation, upon which Rosa- 
line bade them to be gone. The king told her, sup- 
posing her to be her royal mistress, that they had 
measured many miles for the favour of a dance 
on the grass with her and her companions; but 
she would and she would not, and finally they 
separated into pairs, the king going aside with 
Rosaline, Biron with the princess, Dumain with 
Maria, and Lorigaville with Katharine, each sup- 
posing he had found his own choice, and each 
meeting with a merry defiance, which finally drove 
them all away. 

The ladies fell then to telling what the gallants 
had said, and the mirth ran high as their mistaken 
confessions of love were repeated. At last the 
princess asked what they should do if the lovers 
returned in their own shapes. Rosaline was for 
mocking them still by telling them how a band of 
fools had come there disguised like Russians, and 



LOVES LABOUR S LOSt. 23 

that the princess and her ladles wondered what 
they were and to what end they had brought 
thither their shallow shows and vilely-penned pro- 
logue. Just as they had resolved on this course 
the gallants reappeared in their proper habits, and 
the ladies whipped into their tents to prepare to 
receive them anew. 

When the princess and her attendants, led by 
Boyet, came forth to greet her royal guest, the 
king made her a fair all hail, but she returned a 
light answer. He told her that he and. his com- 
panions had come to lead her company to his 
court; but she appeared to resent his former dis- 
courtesy and refused to go with him. He took 
shame to himself for the coldness of her welcome, 
and said that he was distressed that she had lived 
thus in desolation, unseen and unvisited. ' * Not 
so, my lord, ' ' said the princess. ' ' We have had 
pastimes and pleasant games. A mess of Rus- 
sians left us but now." *'How, madam? Rus- 
sians?" said the king. "Yes, in truth, my lord. 
Trim gallants, full of state and courtship. ' ' Here- 
upon Rosaline spoke up. " It is not so, my lord," 
said she. * ' We four were indeed confronted by 
four men in Russian habit, who stayed here an 
hour, and talked apace, but in the whole hour 
they did not bless us with a single happy word. 
I dare not call them fools; but I will say that, 
when they are thirsty, fools would fain have a 
drink." 

Thus rallying Navarre and his courtiers, the 



24 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

ladies brought them at last to a confession of their 
trick ; but even then the gallants were ignorant 
of the deception that had previously been played 
upon them. When the king vowed that he had 
whispered a pledge of love into his lady's ear, 
the princess charged that if she should challenge 
him with this he would reject her. ''Upon my 
honour, no!" said he, warmly. ''Forbear," cried 
the princess. ' ' You have broken your oath 
once!" "Despise me, then," said he, "when I 
break this oath. " "I will : therefore you must 
keep it. Rosaline, what did the Russian whisper 
in your ear ?' ' 

Rosaline repeated the king's oath made to her 
when in disguise as the princess, and the princess 
feigned to take the king at his word and joyfully 
gave him Rosaline's hand. Navarre was vexed 
and put out of countenance by this, and only after 
a free explanation of the pleasant device of the 
ladies could he and his companions understand 
how they had been caught in a trap laid by 
themselves. 

But Costard came in at this moment to announce 
a mummery which he and his companions had 
planned for the entertainment of the princess, and 
the embarrassment of the gallants was soon lost 
in the fun of the play. When this mock drama 
was about to end in a real combat between Costard 
and Armado, arrived a messenger from France to 
the princess, named Mercade, who brought tidings 
of her old father's death. Upon this news the 



LOVE S LABOUR S LOST. 2$ 

company quickly dispersed, and the princess, in 
her sudden sorrow, gave orders for her departure 
on that same night. She thanked the king and his 
companions for all their fair endeavours, and en- 
treated them to excuse the liberties she and her 
companions had appeared to take. If they had 
borne themselves over-boldly, the king's gentleness 
was guilty of it. "Farewell, worthy lord!" said 
she. "A heavy heart does not bear a humble 
tongue. Excuse me for coming so short of 
thanks for my great suit so easily obtained." 

But the king would not be put off. He was 
truly in love with the princess, and even her great 
grief could not prevent him from urging his suit. 
' ' Since love' s argument was on foot first, ' ' said 
he, ' ' do not let sorrow justle it from its purpose. 
To wail for lost friends is not so wholesome as to 
rejoice at friends newly found." 

The princess still feigned to misunderstand his 
declaration of love, so he spoke in honest, plain 
words which should best pierce the ears of grief. 
He told the ladies how, for their sakes, he and his 
gentlemen had neglected time, and played foul 
with their oaths. How beauty had deformed them, 
drawn them aside from their intents, and made 
them appear ridiculous, for love is wanton as a 
child, skipping, and vain, and formed by the 
eye, like which, it is full of stray shapes varying 
in subjects as the eye rolls to every varied ob- 
ject. 

The princess replied that they had received the 



26 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

letters of the king and his companions, with all 
their favours and messages of love; but had rated 
them as pleasant jests to while away the time, not 
as serious professions. 

The king then made one last appeal that their 
vows might be accepted in very truth, but still the 
princess held out. The time was too short, she 
said, to make a world-without-end bargain in. 
Yet there was one condition on which she might 
at length accept his wooing. Still rallying him 
for his foolish pledge of retirement which he had 
so quickly broken, she said she would not accept 
his oath; but if he would go with speed to some 
forlorn and naked hermitage remote from the 
pleasures of the world, and stay there a year, 
then, if that austere and unsociable life should not 
change the state of his heart and make him regret 
an offer made in heat of blood, he might come 
and claim her hand, by the virgin palm of which, 
now held against his, she swore to be his wife. 
Until then she would shut herself up in a house of 
mourning and shed endless tears for the death of 
the old king, her father. 

When Navarre had dutifully accepted these hard 
conditions, and said some ardent words of adieu, 
Biron, Dumain, and Longaville asked each in turn 
of his chosen lady what was to be his fate, and 
each had for answer that he must come a-wooing 
at the end of a twelvemonth and a day, when the 
king came to the princess. Then Biron, in the 
excess of his ardour, asked Rosaline to impose 



LOVE S LABOUR S LOST. 27 

some service on him that might fitly show his 
love. 

'* I have often heard of you, my Lord Biron,'* 
returned Rosaline, who had a store of light wit, 
but who had withal much womanly wisdom and 
loved seriousness none the less. "The world's 
large tongue proclaims you to be a man full of 
mockeries and wounding jests. If, then, you 
would win me, and at the same time weed this 
wormwood from your brain, you must, for a 
twelvemonth to come, visit the sick from day to 
day and converse with groaning wretches, your 
task being to force them to smile at your witty 
sallies." *' But what jest could move laughter in 
the throat of death?" asked Biron, in dismay. 
"It is impossible. Mirth cannot move a soul 
that is in agony." He was beginning thus to 
realize how small a part of life lies in laughter, 
which to him had hitherto been the all in all. 

"Why," said Rosaline, not a little pleased to 
find him so easily schooled, ' ' that is the way to 
choke a gibing spirit whose influence is begotten 
of the grace that shallow hearers give to fools. 
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear of the hearer, 
never in the tongue of the maker. So, if ears 
that are deaf with the noise of their own groans 
will listen to your idle mockeries, continue them, 
and I will have you and the fault together. But 
if they will not, throw away that spirit, and I will 
be right joyful at your reformation." 

Biron was too deep in love to resist any condi- 



28 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

tion that Rosaline might impose upon him. He 
gladly accepted her terms, and said he would, 
whatever befell, jest for the year long in a hospital. 

Then the princess turned to depart, but the king 
offered to take her on her way, while Biron, jester 
to the last, remarked that their wooing had not 
ended like an old play. *' Jack has not got Jill," 
quoth he. ' ' The courtesy of these ladies might 
well have made our sport a comedy. " " Come, 
sir, ' ' said the king, ' ' it wants but a twelvemonth 
and it will end." "But that's too long for a 
play," ruefully said Biron. 

Here broke in Don Armado, desiring to kiss 
the royal finger and crying that he had vowed to 
Jaquenetta to hold the plough three years for her 
sweet love. "But, most esteemed greatness," 
pleaded he, "will you hear the dialogue that the 
two learned men, Holofernes and Sir Nathaniel, 
have made in praise of the owl and the cuckoo ?' ' 
The king bade him call them forth quickly, and 
out stepped the two pedants with Moth and Cos- 
tard, whereupon Ver, the Spring, sang a song of 
the cuckoo, and Hiems, or Winter, this ditty of the 
owl : 

** When icicles hang by the wall, 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
And Tom bears logs into the hall, 

And milk comes frozen home in pail, 
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

To-who ; 
To-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 



LOVE S LABOUR S LOST. 29 

"When all aloud the wind doth blow, 

And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
And birds sit brooding in the snow, 

And Marian's nose looks red and raw ; 
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
Then nightly sings the staring owl. 

To- who ; 
To-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot." 




MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



IN the pleasant town of Windsor lived Master 
Page and his wife, with their daughter Mis- 
tress Anne Page, who was both young and comely. 
It was plain that Mistress Anne had inherited her 
good looks from her mother, for Mrs. Page was, 
in spite of her matronhood, still winning enough 
to beget an elderly passion in Sir John Falstaff. 

This knight was a freebooter of the town, who 
lived upon his wits and was followed by a band of 
cut-purses and knaves who throve on his remnant 
of respectability. He was fat, and unwieldy of 
gait, and his face was crimsoned by the potations 
of sack he was forever draining in Mine Host's 
tap-room of the Garter Inn, in which public-house 
he dwelt. 

But Sir John's happy-go-lucky calling was not 
prosperous. His fellows were idle, and a great 
charge upon him, for they cost him ten pounds a 
week in wages, and his pockets were empty. He 
decided to turn some of them away; but this was 
not relished by those who were discharged. They 
were used to the careless life of dependents, and 

31 



32 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

liked little to have to shift for themselves. Bar- 
dolph, a withered serving-man, as his master called 
him, was engaged by the host of the Garter as a 
tapster; and Sir John was heartily glad to be rid 
of him, for his thefts were too open; but Nym 
and Pistol found no honest employment, nor in- 
deed did they want any, but preferred to take to 
the road as highwaymen on their own account. 

Sir John now determined to make his suscep- 
tible heart do service to his empty purse. He 
had conceived a sudden love for the wife of one 
Master Ford, who was a neighbour of Master Page, 
and this new fancy he thought he could make of 
twofold benefit. Ford was a man well-to-do, and 
Mistress Ford had, quoth Sir John, the command 
of her husband's purse. He therefore wrote a 
gallant letter to her, as a final means of restoring 
his fortunes. In the wide reach of his affections 
he had also, as was before said, conceived a passion 
for the elder Mistress Page, and he now wrote her 
a love-letter as well. He asked Nym and Pistol, 
as they waited upon him in the tap-room of the 
Garter, each to deliver one of the letters to the 
lady addressed. This they disdainfully refused to 
do, both because of assumed honour, and because 
they knew that Falstaff meant soon to cast them 
off. Sir John, therefore, gave the letters to his 
page, Robin, and directed him to carry them to 
Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. 

When Falstaff and Robin had gone out, Pistol 
began to curse the knight, and Nym swore to be 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 33 

revenged. * * I will incense Ford to deal with poi- 
son, ' ' said he. ' * I will possess him with yellow- 
ness," meaning jealousy. *'Thou art the Mars 
of malcontents!" cried Pistol, and he in turn 
vowed to do the like by Page. 

When Mistress Page received her letter she was 
much puzzled to remember what behaviour on her 
part had encouraged the amorous knight to think 
that she might return his sudden affections. As 
she was reading the letter once again in front of 
her house, and vowing to be revenged upon him 
for his impudence, Mistress Ford overtook her 
and asked her for some counsel, saying that were 
it not for one trifling respect she could come to 
much honour. ''Hang the trifle, woman," said 
Mistress Page ; ' ' take the honour. What is it ? 
dispense with trifles : what is it ?" * ' If I would 
but consent to be lost for an eternal moment or so 
I could be knighted," answered Mistress Ford. 
Then she showed the letter from Sir John which 
she had just received, and implored Mistress Page 
to advise her how to be revenged upon the rascal 
adventurer. When she saw the letter, Mistress 
Page was even more angry than before, because it 
was word for word like her own. ' ' I warrant he 
hath a thousand of these letters writ with blank 
space for different names, ' ' said she, ' ' and these 
are of the second edition." 

The honest wives then planned a merry revenge 
upon the old knight, which should cure him for- 
ever of his lying flatteries and clumsy deceits. 

III. — c 



34 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

" Let US appoint him a meeting," said they; "give 
him a show of comfort in his suit, and lead him on 
with a fine baited delay till he hath pawned his 
horses to Mine Host of the Garter." "Nay," 
quoth Mistress Ford, ' ' I will consent to any act 
of villany against him that may not sully the 
chariness of our honesty ; but if my husband saw 
this letter it would give eternal food to his jeal- 
ousy. ' ' 

Thus these good wives, feeling themselves in- 
jured in their reputations by the knight's presump- 
tion, and being the hearty dames of old England 
they were, set about a revenge which should show 
them some sport such as they loved, and at the 
same time punish the offender. 

But as Mistress Page and Mistress Ford were 
about to go indoors, their husbands, accompanied 
by Pistol and Nym, came up, in earnest talk, for 
Pistol in the mean time had assured Mr. Ford that 
Sir John affected his wife, and, though Ford en- 
deavoured to conceal his anxiety at the news, yet 
it was evident that he was violently suspicious. 
Page, who had heard the same news about Mis- 
tress Page from Nym, was in no wise disturbed, 
but rather chose to believe in his wife than in so 
notable a rogue. 

Ford had brooded jealously over the possibility 
of his wife's love for Falstaff, and would not be 
satisfied until he had put her truth to a test. He 
went, therefore, to Mine Host of the Garter, and, 
pretending some merriment, offered him a pottle 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 35 

of burnt sack if he would give him admittance to 
Falstaff under the false name of Brook. It was, 
he said, only for a jest; and this quite fell in with 
Mine Host's mood, who was always eager for sport 
of any kind. 

While Ford was putting on his disguise and 
preparing to visit Sir John, the knight received a 
call from Mistress Quickly, an elderly woman who 
was servant to Dr. Caius, the French physician of 
Windsor. She was a notable gossip and just the 
person to help Mistress Ford and Mistress Page in 
their plan of revenge. They had chosen her for 
her wit, which concealed a store of deceit beneath 
a show of humble ignorance. She came in to Sir 
John as he was chiding his surly follower Pistol, 
and, though she gave warning that her errand was 
secret, Falstaff, who was not a little guileless for all 
his bravado and boastfulness, assured her that 
nobody heard, saving his own people. ' ' Heaven 
bless them and make them his servants," ex- 
claimed Mistress Quickly, and then falteringly 
delivered her message. 

It was from Mistress Ford, who, said the good 
dame, was much courted by the best nobility of 
the realm, yet heeded them not, but gave willing 
ear to Sir John's tender messages. He could 
come to her, she notified him, between ten and 
eleven o'clock, when her husband would be ab- 
sent from home. ' ' Alas ! the sweet woman leads 
an ill life with him," exclaimed Mistress Quickly; 
** he's a very jealousy man; she leads a very fretful 



36 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

life with him, good heart." ''Ten and eleven," 
mused Sir John, entirely deceived. ' ' Woman, 
commend me to her; I will not fail her." "Why, 
you say well," answered the good dame; "but 
I have another message to your worship." Then 
she told him how Mistress Page had also sent him 
her hearty commendations. ' ' And let me tell you 
in your ear," continued she, "she is as virtuous 
a civil modest wife as any is in Windsor, yet I 
never knew a woman so dote upon a man; surely, 
I think you have charms, la; yes, in truth." 

Thus wheedling and flattering, Mistress Quickly 
coaxed the knight into the trap laid for him by 
the good wives, and when he had, in the excess 
of his delight, given her his purse and sent with her 
his page Robin to be a messenger between him- 
self and Mistress Page, Dame Quickly retired and 
left him to his joy at having made so profitable a 
conquest. 

While he was in the midst of his exclamations 
of delight, Bardolph entered his chamber with the 
news that one Master Brook was below and would 
fain speak with him. He then handed Sir John a 
draught of sack from the visitor. This was a 
bond of good-fellowship which the knight could 
never resist, so he commanded that Master Brook 
be called in. ' ' Such Brooks are welcome to me, 
that overflow with liquor," said he, and, as Bar- 
dolph hastened out to bring the guest, again the 
old knight fell into a cry of delight at having won 
Mistress Ford and Mistress Page to accept his suit. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 37 

Mr. Ford, disguised as Mr. Brook, now followed 
Bardolph into Falstaff's chamber, and when the 
tapster had retired they fell at once to talk of Mr. 
Brook's business. He had come, he said, about 
a gentlewoman of the town whose name was Ford. 
* * I have long loved her, ' ' he frankly confessed 
(which was probable enough, seeing she was his 
own wife), " and, I protest to you, bestowed much 
upon her. But whatever I have merited, either in 
my mind or in my means, I have received no 
recompense except bitter experience. ' ' Then Mr. 
Brook enlarged on his grievances and frankly 
avowed his purpose, which was that Sir John 
should lay an amiable siege to the honesty of 
Ford's wife. *'Use your art of wooing, win her 
to consent to you ; if any man may, you may as 
soon as any." Thus appealing to the vanity of 
the aged gallant, and giving him money which he 
urged him to spend freely in the attempt. Ford, 
in the person of Brook, hoped to test the faith 
of his wife, for he. thought, as a warrant for his 
wish to undo her, that if he could come to her 
with any detection in his hand, his desires would 
have instance and argument to commend them. 

Falstaff first carefully secured the money, and 
next gave Brook his hand in witness of the bargain; 
lastly, he assured him that he should, if he would, 
have his wish. Brook was not a little shaken by 
this promise, and almost betrayed himself at the 
thought of his own shame, which he was thus 
bargaining for ; but he was a determined man 

4 



38 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

and very jealous, and he persisted in his cruel 
device. 

Falstaff then assured Brook that, by appoint- 
ment, he would be with Ford's wife between ten 
and eleven: ''for at that time," said he, "the 
jealous rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. 
Come you to me to-night ; you shall know how 
I speed." They then parted, and Ford resolved 
to overtake Sir John with his wife in his own 
house, between ten and eleven o'clock that same 
day. 

Now, it happened that a certain Dr. Caius and 
Sir Hugh Evans had challenged each other to a 
duel which had been caused by their rivalry in 
wooing Anne Page, of whom each was a lover. 
That day they had gone forth in the fields beyond 
Windsor to meet in deadly combat with the sword. 
Mine Host, with Master Page, Shallow, a country 
justice, and Slender, another suitor of Anne Page, 
had heard of this, and had gone out to see the 
sport, which, as was well foreseen, ended in a mere 
torrent of words, for Mine Host took care that they 
kept their limbs whole and hacked nothing but 
the English tongue. 

As all these came back to town they met Master 
Ford on his way to expose the villany of Falstaff, 
and were invited by him to his house, where he 
said he had much good cheer to regale them with, 
and, for their further entertainment, he would show 
them a monster. 

Shallow and Slender and Mine Host excused 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 39 

themselves from going, as they had other engage- 
ments; but the rest were bent upon any madness, 
and crying, ** Have with you to see the monster," 
started gaily off under Ford's guidance. 

While all this was taking place, Mrs. Ford and 
Mrs. Page had been preparing to receive Falstaif. 
They had directed the servants to bring into the 
room where Sir John was to visit Mrs. Ford, a 
great basket used for carrying soiled linen out to 
the laundry in Datchet meadow by the Thames 
River side. When this had been done, Mrs. Ford 
charged the men to stand ready hard by in the 
brew-house, and, when she suddenly called them, 
to come forth and, without any pause or stagger- 
ing, to take the basket on their shoulders, carry 
it to the laundry, and empty it into the muddy 
ditch by the river. As the men retired, Falstaff's 
page, little Robin, appeared with the news that 
his master was at the back door and requested 
Mrs. Ford's company. 

Mrs. Page put up a warning finger and asked 
if the boy had been true to her. ''Ay, I'll be 
sworn," said he; "my master knows not of your 
being here, and hath threatened to put me into 
everlasting liberty if I tell you of it." "Thou'rt 
a good boy !' ' said she, and ran away to hide firom 
Sir John; whereupon Mrs. Ford called after her 
to remember her cue; and then told the page to 
go say to his master that she was alone. 

Falstaff came puffing in anon, protesting his 
love for Mrs. Ford in a medley of words which 



4b TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

she feigned well to believe, and vowing he wished 
that her husband were dead, for he would thus 
make her his own lady. He heaped a score of 
clumsy compliments on her beauty, and when she 
modestly protested he asked, ' ' What made me 
love thee? Let that persuade thee there's some- 
thing extraordinary in thee. " As he was in the 
midst of his tender speeches, the page cried from 
within: "Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here's 
Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing, 
and looking wildly, and would needs speak with 
you presently." Falstaff was dismayed at this 
news. He ran and ensconced himself behind the 
arras which hung against the walls, just as Mrs. 
Page entered the room, crying, *' O Mistress Ford, 
what have you done? You're shamed, you're 
overthrown, you're undone forever." Mistress 
Page pretended, for the benefit of Sir John in 
hiding, to be very much agitated, but, to cap the 
climax, Mrs. Page told her that her husband was 
coming thither with all the officers of Windsor, to 
search for a gentleman that was now there in his 
house by his wife's consent. Mrs. Ford denied 
it with what show of gravity she could, and Mrs. 
Page went on to harrow the feelings of the knight 
by imploring her, if there were one hidden there, 
to convey him out at all hazards. Then Mrs. 
Ford made pretence of confiding in her friend and 
openly confessed her fault. She said there was a 
gentleman concealed in the arras, and she feared 
not her own shame so much as his peril. ' ' I had 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 4! 

rather than a thousand pound he were out of the 
house," cried she, in apparent despair. 

* ' For shame ; never stand saying, ' you had 
rather,'" repHed Mrs. Page; "your husband's 
here at hand; bethink you of some conveyance; 
you cannot hide him in the house. Look, here 
is a basket ; if he be of any reasonable stature he 
may creep in here ; and throw foul linen upon 
him." 

Falstaff now appeared from behind the hang- 
ings in a great fright, and begged them to let him 
see the basket. As he squeezed his huge bulk 
in, Mrs. Page scornfully cried, ' ' What ! Sir John 
Falstaff ! Are these your letters ! ' ' But he did 
not heed her, pleading only to be taken away. 

The two dames and the page then piled in the 
soiled linen on top of the perspiring knight, and 
Mistress Ford called to her men to bear him out, 
giving them careful directions anew where the 
clothes should be taken. 

At this moment Master Ford and his compan- 
ions arrived at the door. He had been telling 
them his suspicions on the way, but they treated 
the tale as a jest. As they entered, the huge 
basket containing the redoubtable Flemish knight 
was brought forth. Ford stopped and asked the 
servants sharply whither they were bearing it, and 
was told, "To the laundress, forsooth." Mrs. 
Ford then spoke up. ' ' You were best meddle 
with the buck-washing," said she, and thus, while 
Ford went on lamenting over his troubles, the 

4* 



42 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

fancied source of them was carried away in the 
wash-basket under his very eyes. 

After all the company had gone into the house, 
Ford gave them his keys, bidding them ascend to 
his chambers and seek out whoever was hidden 
there. Page pleaded with him to be content, and 
not to shame his wife; but he persisted, and car- 
ried all his visitors up to see Falstaif exposed. 
In the mean time Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford were 
with suppressed laughter enjoying the joke below, 
and wondering which pleased them most, the dis- 
comfiture of Sir John or of Mr. Ford. But Mrs. 
Ford had divined that her husband shrewdly sus- 
picioned Falstaff's presence there, and this not a 
little alarmed her. Mrs. Page said she would lay 
a plot to try that, and they might thus have 
still more tricks with the amorous knight. They 
resolved to send Mistress Quickly to him with 
apologies for throwing him in the water, and to 
give him another hope, only to betray him to 
another punishment. He was to be sent for on 
the morrow at eight o' clock, that they might feign 
to make him amends. 

Ford and his companions came down disap- 
pointed of their prey. Page reproached his neigh- 
bour for his false suspicions, saying he would not 
have a distemper of this kind for the wealth of 
Windsor Castle, and well he might feel so, for a 
jealous man breeds himself an endless torment, 
and does untold harm to his kind. Ford now 
affected to cast off his gloomy humours, and in- 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 43 

vited all the company in to the dinner which he 
had promised them, including Mrs. Page and his 
wife. They went in to share the repast, but never- 
theless were resolved to make game of their host 
v/hen the chance came. Before they drew up to 
the table. Page asked them to come to his house 
to breakfast in the morning, and after, to go 
a-birding, for he had a fine hawk for the bush. 
They were in for any sport, said they, and would 
right gladly, whereupon they sat about the board 
and fell to with appetite upon Ford's plentiful 
viands. 

Falstaff was in a great temper the next morning, 
and called for his sack to have a toast in it, that 
he should be warmed after his bath in the Thames, 
for his belly was as cold, said he, as if he had swal- 
lowed snowballs for pills. He vowed that if ever 
he were served such another trick he would have 
his brains taken out and buttered to give to some 
dog for a new year' s gift. ' ' The rogues, ' ' growled 
he to Bardolph, "tilted me into the river with as 
little remorse as they would have drowned a litter 
of puppies, and you may know by my size that 
I have a kind of alacrity in sinking. I should 
have drowned but that the shore was shelvy and 
shallow, — a death that I abhor." 

As he was railing on thus, Mistress Quickly 
arrived, saying she had come from Mrs. Ford. 
' * I have had ford enough : I was thrown into the 
ford," said Falstaff, angrily. The good dame 
pleaded that it was not her mistress's fault. She 



44 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

was in great grief over it. The men, she said, 
mistook the direction. Then she gave him her 
message, which was that Mrs. Ford's husband 
went that day a-birding, and she desired him to 
come to her between eight and nine. ' ' I must 
carry her an answer quickly, ' ' quoth she. * ' She' 11 
make amends, I warrant you." 

The knight could not resist such a flattering 
appeal. His vanity was touched, and he saw, 
too, in the achievement of his designs a remedy 
for his empty purse. Hence he said he would go. 
"And bid her think what a man is," he added; 
'Met her consider his frailty, and then judge of 
my merit." 

As Quickly went out, Brook came in with a 
** Bless you, sir!" He had come to learn what 
had passed between Sir John and Mrs. Ford, and 
the knight was not a little chagrined to have to 
tell him of his ill success — not to speak of the 
scandalous treatment he had received. But he 
laid all the blame on Ford's jealousy, and vowed 
he would be thrown into ^tna, as he had been 
thrown into Thames, before he would leave her 
thus. He then revealed to Mr. Brook that, as Mr. 
Ford had that morning gone a-birding, he had 
received another embassy of meeting from Mrs. 
Ford, between eight and nine ; and bid Brook 
come to him at his convenient leisure to know 
how he sped. 

The knight then went out to keep his appoint- 
ment, and Ford, in the disguise of Brook, was dis- 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 45 

mayed by the unexpected turn of affairs. He did 
not quite know whether he was asleep or awake. 
But he felt that he must overcome his astonish- 
ment and act promptly. Falstaff was even then 
on the way to his house, and he decided to go at 
once and take him in his villany. 

As Ford, accompanied by Master Page, Shal- 
low, Dr. Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans, came up to 
the doorway of his house, Mrs, Ford, to tease him 
and to throw him off his guard, had the clothes- 
basket again carried out, which seeing, Ford raved 
against his wife and demanded to look into it. In 
the mean while Mrs. Page led forth a fat old woman 
whom she called mother Pratt. This was the aunt 
of Mrs. Ford's maid, and she lived in Brentford. 
Ford had a great hatred of her and had forbid her 
his house, and now, in the excess of his anger at 
not finding Falstaff where he had expected him 
to be, he beat the old woman unmercifully from 
his door, calling her witch, and hag, and baggage, 
and many more unsavory names. Mrs. Page re- 
proached him for his cruelty. "Are you not 
ashamed ?' ' said she ; ' * I think you have killed 
the poor woman. ' ' But Ford only muttered the 
more curses after her; and when she had hurried 
her unwieldy body, in ill-fitting clothes with a 
muffler about her head, out of the way, he prayed 
his companions to follow him up-stairs and discover 
the hidden rogue. 

As they went up, Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page 
gave vent anew to their glee at this happy de- 



46 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

vice for punishing the rascally old knight. He 
had come according to appointment, and again 
Mrs. Page had brought the news of Mr. Ford's 
approach. Then Sir John in craven fear had 
looked everywhere for a refuge, and had finally 
consented to put on the clothes of the old witch 
of Brentford, which happened to be up-stairs. 
Thus ingloriously disguised, he had taken a sound 
beating at the hands of the man he meant to 
wrong, and had retreated in cowardly haste. 

Mrs. Page said she would have the cudgel hal- 
lowed and hung over the altar, so pleased was she 
that the culprit had got his deserts. ' * What think 
you ?' ' said Mrs. Ford. * ' May we, with warrant 
of womanhood and the witness of a good con- 
science, pursue him with any further revenge?" 
Mrs. Page thought that the spirit of wantonness 
was surely scared out of him; but she agreed that 
they should tell their husbands, and if Ford and 
Page desired to afflict him any further, it would 
be well. 

Ford was very contrite when he heard his wife' s 
confession. He humbly asked her pardon, and 
vowed he would henceforth rather suspect the sun 
with cold than her with any wantonness. Then 
he and Page agreed that the good dames should 
make public sport with the old fat fellow once 
again, so that he might be taken in the act and 
disgraced for his offences. 

It was planned that the merry wives should 
meet Sir John by appointment in the park at mid- 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 47 

night. There was an old tale of Heme the hunter, 
who had been a keeper once in Windsor forest, and 
who, through all the winter time, at midnight, 
walked round about an oak, with great ragged 
horns, blasting the trees and taking the cattle, and 
shaking a chain in a most hideous and dreadful 
manner. Travellers feared mightily to walk at 
night by Heme's oak, as it was called, and thus 
after sundown it was a deserted place. This was 
the spot fixed upon for the meeting, and it was 
agreed that Falstaff should be asked to come 
thither dressed with huge horns on his head, like 
Heme the hunter. 

''Then," quoth Mrs. Page, '' my daughter and 
my little son and three or four more of their 
growth shall be dressed like urchins, ouphes, and 
fairies in green and white, and shall carry lighted 
tapers on their heads and rattles in their hands ; 
and when Falstaff, Mrs. Ford, and I are newly met 
they shall come forth suddenly with some song. 
We two will feign cowardice and fly, while they 
shall encircle him about and pinch him, fairy-like, 
asking why he dares to profane their sacred paths 
at that hallowed hour. ' ' 

This being arranged, the plotters parted. Ford 
promising to go once again to the knight dis- 
guised as Brook and learn all his purpose, after 
Dame Quickly had invited him to the midnight 
meeting. 

When Mistress Quickly, bent upon this mission, 
reached the Garter Inn, Sir John was in the tap- 



48 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

room lamenting very bitterly over the cudgelling 
he had received from Ford. * * If it should come 
to the ear of the court, ' ' growled he, * ' how I had 
been transformed, they would melt me out of my 
fat, drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's boots 
with me. I warrant they would whip me with 
their fine wits till I were as crest-fallen as a dried 
pear." Dame Quickly coming suddenly upon him 
in this mood, he grew furious when she told her 
errand from the good ladies. ' ' I have suffered 
more for their sakes, ' ' quoth he, * * than the villa- 
nous inconstancy of man is able to bear. " " And 
have they not suffered?" asked Mistress Quickly, 
playing her part of injured innocence right well. 
' ' Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten black and 
blue. " " What tell' st thou me of black and blue ?' ' 
roared the bruised and suffering knight ; and his 
troubles, moreover, had not ended with a beating, 
for he was like to be apprehended, he said, for the 
witch of Brentford, but that his admirable dexter- 
ity of wit and his counterfeiting the action of an 
old woman had delivered him from the knave 
constable. Thus he railed on, always boasting of 
his own good parts while he bemoaned the injuries 
that really resulted from their lack. 

Dame Quickly soothed him as best she could, 
and, asking for more privacy that she might deliver 
her tidings, he invited her into his own chamber. 
There, at last, she prevailed with him to go to 
Heme's oak at midnight, promising to provide 
him a chain and a pair of horns. Then she 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 49 

departed, well pleased with her success, and in- 
wardly full of mirth at the old rogue's simplicity. 

And now came Mr. Brook to see Sir John and 
to learn how his venture of the day before had 
prospered. The knight was full of promises for 
the future, for he felt a crying need of some of 
Brook's gold; but he was in a mighty rage about 
what had happened him, and desired nothing so 
much as revenge upon Ford, whom he vowed 
he would undo that night, for he pledged himself 
to deliver Ford's wife into Mr. Brook's hand. 

As the Windsor clock struck twelve through 
the thick foliage of the park, Sir John came 
stealthily under the trees to keep his appointment 
by Heme's oak. He was dressed like a hunter 
and had a great pair of buck's horns on his head, 
fastened in a close hood that covered his ears and 
met under his chin. He muttered encouraging 
words to himself as he stole forward, for he was 
sore afraid of the dark, in spite of his vain boasting 
and show of courage. As he neared the huge 
gnarled oak which was to be his trysting-place 
with Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page, the former came 
forth from her concealment in the trees and 
greeted him with well-feigned affection. He would 
have taken her in his huge arms, but that she re- 
treated from his embrace and told him that Mrs. 
Page had come with her. ' ' Divide me like a 
bribe-buck; each take a haunch," said he. ''As 
I am a true spirit, welcome !" 

Just then there came a strange noise abroad, and 
in. — c d 5 



50 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the good wives pretended to be alarmed. ' ' What 
should this be ?' ' asked Falstaff, frightened in very- 
truth. 

"Away, away!" cried the dames in a breath, 
running off as they called ; and, in an instant, Sir 
John was surrounded by a fairy throng, with Sir 
Hugh Evans as a satyr and Mrs. Quickly and 
Pistol as attendant sprites. They began to circle 
around him singing weird songs and twitching 
their tapers about on their swaying heads. 

"They are fairies," quoth Sir John. " He that 
speaks to them shall die;" and he lay down upon 
his face in craven fear ; they meanwhile chanting 
in time to their tip-toe steps and pinching him or 
burning him now and again with their tapers. 

When they had sufficiently worked their will 
with him, there was a sound of a hunter's horn, 
at which all vanished away, and the sorry old gal- 
lant slowly rose, took off his horns, and got upon 
his feet. He looked around in terror, and well he 
might, for at the instant came running forth Page 
and Ford, with their wives, who seized him just in 
time to prevent him from taking to his ungainly 
heels. They made game of his foolish pretensions 
to gallantry, and it slowly dawned upon him that 
he had really been the dupe of the honest wives 
whom he had tried so hard to injure. Then said 
he, " I do begin to perceive that I am made an 
ass," which was a truth most aptly expressed; and 
he continued : ' ' And these are not fairies ? I was 
three or four times in the thought they were not, 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 5 1 

and yet the guiltiness of my mind and the sudden 
surprise of my powers drove the grossness of the 
foppery into a received belief. See now, how wit 
may be made a Jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill 
employment," for he still believed in his wit, and 
was willing to blame its miscarriage upon any 
cause saving the right one of its dulness. He 
did not feel so much remorse for his sins as shame 
for his little wit, and, seeing this, Mrs. Page said 
these honest words : ' ' Why, Sir John, do you 
think, though we would have thrust virtue out of 
our hearts by the head and shoulders, that ever 
any power could have made you our delight ?' ' 

* ' What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ?' ' said 
Ford, derisively; and Page, in his turn, called him 
"old, cold, and withered, and as poor as Job;" 
whereupon the crest-fallen knight acknowledged 
himself dejected, and gave himself up to them to 
work what punishment they would. 

*' Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one 
Master Brook, that you have cozened of money," 
said Ford, still smarting from the old knight's 
deceptions ; but Page, with good-humoured for- 
getfulness of his evil designs, bid him come to his 
house and eat a posset, and thither all went the 
more merrily because suspicion and jealousy had 
been cured by good sport and fair humour. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



WHEN the Trojan war was at Its height, 
and neither the besieged nor the besiegers 
seemed to gain advantage in the daily combats 
before the city, there Hved in Troy a certain 
soothsayer and priest named Calchas, who had a 
daughter called Cressida. This maiden was, with 
but one exception, the fairest lady in Troy ; but 
she was of a coy and self-willed nature, and, 
though her beauty had won her many lovers, yet 
she had never chosen any of them for her husband. 

The sole rival in loveliness to Cressida in the 
besieged town was Queen Helen, the wife of 
Menelaus, king of the Grecian city of Sparta. 
This beautiful queen had been stolen from her 
husband by Paris, a prince of Troy, and the theft 
had given rise to the war now raging between 
Troy and Greece, for all the brother kings of 
Menelaus had combined to aid him in his expe- 
dition against the prince who had thus wronged 
him. 

Among the sons of King Priam of Troy was a 
prince named Troilus, who was deeply in love 

5* 53 



54 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

with Cressida, but whose passion seemed in no wise 
returned by her. Cressida had, however, an aged 
uncle named Pandarus, who, being flattered that 
a prince of Troy should woo one of his family, as 
well as given by nature to meddling in the affairs of. 
others, was eager to marry them without delay, and 
used every device he could invent to make favour 
for the young prince in the eyes of his niece. To 
him Troilus would come with all the woes of his 
unsuccessful suit, and Pandarus would make bold 
promises of his niece's consent which he knew no 
means of fulfilling. Then would he go to Cressida 
with a tongue full of praises of Troilus, who, he 
said, was a better man in arms and courage than 
Hector, the hero of the Trojan cause, and he 
brought the name of Troilus with new commenda- 
tions into every sentence he uttered, thus hoping 
to win his niece's love for a wooer she was wont 
to flout and make game of 

But the truth was, that in her secret heart 
Cressida loved Troilus, though she put on an 
affected air of mockery and indifference because 
her nature revolted at her uncle's persistent praises 
of him. Indeed, she saw a thousand-fold more in 
this young prince than was shown in the glass of 
Pandarus' s praise, yet she held off from giving 
her consent, because women, she said, are angels 
while they are being wooed; but being won they 
are little heeded. Men prize the thing ungained 
more than it is worth, and love is never so sweet 
as in the making, and for this reason she resolved 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 55 

that, though love were kindling in her heart, yet 
no hint of it should appear through her eyes. 

While the suit of Troilus stood in this unpros- 
perous state, the affairs of the opposing forces of 
Troy and Greece were equally without issue. So 
little prospect was there of a speedy termination 
of the war, that some of the greatest leaders of 
the Grecians were grown indifferent and slothful, 
and threatening jealousies had sprung up among 
them. The mightiest warrior of them all, Achilles, 
had long avoided the field of battle, and lay idly 
in his tent laughing at the mockeries which Pa- 
troclus, his lieutenant and friend, made against his 
brother generals. 

This condition of affairs alarmed the Grecian 
leader Agamemnon, and he called a council of his 
generals, among whom were Nestor, the oldest 
of all, Ulysses, Menelaus, and others of less note. 
They met before Agamemnon's tent, and he ad- 
dressed them in a noble speech, saying that it was 
not a new matter to them that they had so far 
come short of their purposes, for after seven years' 
siege Troy's walls were still standing; but he bid 
them not to be abashed nor think the failure a 
thing to take shame for, because every action in 
the experience of men is biassed and thwarted, 
nor answers its aim. These things, he said, were 
but the trial by which great Jove tested the con- 
stancy of mankind, the fineness of whose metal is 
not found in fortune's love, but rather in the wind 
and tempest of her frown, where distinction, with 



56 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

a broad and powerful fan, puffing at all men, 
winnows the light ones away; and what has mass 
or matter by itself lies rich in virtue and unmin- 
gled with anything more base. 

To this wise utterance Nestor, and, after him, 
Ulysses, replied, and the latter said, boldly, that 
hollow factions and intrigues among themselves, 
and not the strength of Troy, had caused the 
failure of their conquest; and he accused the vain 
leaders who quarrelled over precedence in the 
field, and taxed foreseeing policy as cowardice, 
esteeming no act but that of the hand, so that the 
ram that batters down the wall was placed above 
the wisdom of him who made the engine. 

But as he proceeded in his eloquent speech the 
sudden blast of a trumpet sounded, which an- 
nounced the arrival of ^Eneas, a Trojan prince, 
who came, he said, to seek Agamemnon. When 
he was brought into the presence of the Grecian 
general he quickly told his errand, which was that 
his brother Hector, the greatest of the Trojan 
warriors, having grown rusty in the dull and long- 
continued truce, had commanded him to take a 
trumpet, and bear to the Grecians a challenge 
against their fairest in valor, to appear in view of 
the two armies on the morrow, when Hector would 
make it good with his sword that he had a lady 
wiser, fairer, and truer than ever a Greek did clasp 
in his arms. To which he added that if any one 
stood forth to accept the challenge. Hector would 
honour him; if none did, when he retired to Troy, 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 57 

he would proclaim that the Grecian dames were 
sunburnt and not worth the splinter of a lance. 

King Agamemnon made a brave answer and 
said that there would be one to meet Hector on 
the morrow; and the aged Nestor, with his Grecian 
heart still young in courage, added that if there 
were none of Grecian mould that had the spark of 
fire to answer for his love, he himself would hide 
his silver beard in a gold helmet and meet the 
challenger. 

'' Now Heavens forbid such scarcity of youth," 
replied the gracious ^neas, and he was then led 
away to Agamemnon's pavilion to be made wel- 
come and feasted before his return to Troy. 

After the rest had retired, the wise Ulysses and 
Nestor, men of far-seeing judgment, advised to- 
gether of the state to which the Grecian arms had 
fallen, and Ulysses said that the pride which had 
grown up in Achilles and which threatened the 
fortunes of the Greeks must now be cropped or it 
would overthrow all. He saw well, he said, that the 
challenge which Hector had sent, however gen- 
erally it was proclaimed, related only to Achilles; 
and to this Nestor agreed, saying that Achilles 
would not fail to find Hector's purpose pointing 
to him. ' * And wake him to the answer, think 
you?" asked Ulysses. The venerable Greek 
thought that it would, and he continued: '*It is 
supposed that he who meets Hector is our choice, 
and that he deserves to represent us, and we should 
therefore guard against defeat by choosing our 



58 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

mightiest." But Ulysses said that this was the 
very reason why Achilles should not meet Hector. 
It would be wiser to keep their best, like good 
merchants, in reserve, for if Achilles conquered 
Hector, they would better parch in Afric sun than 
suffer the pride and scorn of his eyes; but if he 
were overthrown, then they were defeated in the 
taint of their best man. To avoid this he craftily 
proposed that they make a lottery, and by a cer- 
tain device let the dull Ajax, next in strength to 
Achilles, draw the chance to fight with Hector. 
And among themselves, he said, they should 
allow him to be the worthier man of the two, for 
thus they might humiliate Achilles. And if Ajax 
came safe off from the combat, they were rid of a 
powerful enemy ; but if he failed, they still would 
have the better man to bring forth. Nestor rel- 
ished this advice and said he would reveal it at 
once to Agamemnon, and thus, that the Greeks 
might retrieve their fortunes, all was planned by 
these two wise generals, who fought with policy as 
well as swords. 

Meanwhile, in Troy, Hector and his brother 
princes were preparing to make good their bold 
challenge, for, though the eldest and mightiest 
must wield the sword, yet the fortunes of all Troy 
were centred in the combat. Troilus therefore 
placed all his love upon a single cast, and deter- 
mined to win or lose Cressida once for all before 
the event of the morrow ; to which end he agreed 
with Pandarus that they should go to the latter' s 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 59 

orchard on that same night, and that there Cres- 
sida should be brought to meet him. 

This fell out as it was planned, though hours 
before the time appointed Troilus stalked, as he 
said, before the lady' s door, like a strange soul upon 
the Stygian banks, staying for waftage. But pres- 
ently Pandarus brought his niece to the orchard, 
blushing and fetching her wind as short as if she 
were frightened by a sprite, or like a newly-taken 
sparrow. ''Come, come," quoth he, as he drew 
her reluctantly along, ' ' what need you blush ? 
shame's a baby !" She broke away and would 
have fled back to the house, but he caught her 
again, and, drawing aside her veil, showed her 
pretty blushing face to the enraptured Troilus. 
This ardent lover, like all his kind, was bereft of 
words by the presence of his sweetheart, but old 
Pandarus kept up a ceaseless chatter, which helped 
the lovers over their embarrassment, so that when 
the lady asked Troilus to walk in, he regained his 
senses and in a moment was at her side. 

Cressida confessed at last that she had loved the 
young prince Troilus night and day for many 
weary months, and yet as she spoke she chid 
herself for revealing her love to him, for, she 
asked, who should be true to women when they 
are so unsecret to themselves ? She feared that 
the utterance of her secret would give Troilus too 
great a power over her; and, as he let her run on 
in her pretty confessions, at last she asked him in 
very self-dread to stop her mouth. This he took 



6o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

to be an invitation to a kiss, which he promptly 
accepted, when, blushing for her seeming boldness, 
she begged for pardon. '' O Heavens! what have 
I done ?' ' said she, and tried to run away. But he 
detained her, and renewed his vows again and 
again, swearing he would be as true as truth's 
simplicity and simpler than the infancy of truth. 
To this she made answer that she would outdo 
him in constancy. So rejoiced was he at thus 
winning her faith that he made many fair speeches, 
and said that true swains in love should, in the 
world to come, approve their truths by Troilus. 
And Cressida, in her turn, vowed that if she were 
ever false or swerved a hair from the truth, when 
time was old and had forgot itself, and water-drops 
had worn the stones of Troy, yet memory should 
upbraid her falsehood ; or, if one in that far time 
should say : as false as air, as water, as sandy 
earth, as fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, or 
stepdame to her son ; finally, to stick the very 
heart of falsehood, he might add, as false as 
Cressida. 

Hereupon the eavesdropping Pandarus reap- 
peared, crying, ' ' Go to, a bargain made : seal 
it, seal it; I'll be the witness," with much more 
that showed his joy at the match; and Troilus was 
not slow to place the seal upon Cressida' s sweet 
lips, when each one cried ''Amen," and the troth 
was duly plighted. 

Now in the camp of the Greeks, during this 
time, Calchas, the father of Cressida, who had 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 6l 

become a traitor to his native land and gone over 
to the Grecian army, began to feel a deep longing 
to have his daughter with him ; and appearing 
before the Greek generals, he made claim upon 
them for recompense for his services to their cause. 

There was, he said, among the lately taken 
prisoners a Trojan called Antenor, who was held 
very dear by the warriors of Troy, and he gave 
assurance that this Antenor was so important to 
the Trojan cause that King Priam would almost 
give up a prince of the blood rather than part 
with him. He asked, therefore, that this valuable 
prisoner be sent back to Troy to buy his daughter; 
which exchange accomplished, he said all debts 
due to him should be quite stricken off. 

To this request Agamemnon readily assented, 
and he ordered that Diomedes should bear An- 
tenor to Troy, and bring back Cressida in his 
place. He bid Diomedes furnish himself fairly 
for the interchange, and to learn also if Hector 
would appear on the morrow to make good his 
challenge. 

With these directions Diomedes immediately 
set out for Troy, where he arrived in the night, 
after Troilus and Cressida had made their vows in 
Pandarus's orchard. He was well greeted by the 
Trojan princes, for his courage was approved and 
he was of much fame; and when he overtook 
^neas, though they were deadly foes on the field, 
yet the Trojan welcomed him frankly, as a man 
of equal valor with himself. 

6 



62 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

^neas had been commanded by King Priam to 
take Diomedes to Calchas's house, and there to 
render to him, in exchange for Antenor, the fair 
Cressida ; but Paris, his brother, who was of the 
company, secretly told ^neas that he thought 
Troilus would be found at the same house, for 
Pandarus had hinted as much to him in the morn- 
ing. Paris therefore bid ^neas run before and 
warn Troilus of their approach and of their errand, 
saying he feared they would find small welcome 
from their brother, for Troilus had rather Troy 
were borne to Greece than Cressida borne from 
Troy. But there was no help; for the bitter dispo- 
sition of the time would have it so, and, obeying 
the king's behest, they started forward, ^neas 
hurrying on before them to waken Troilus from 
his dream of happiness. 

Pandarus answered the hasty knock at the door, 
and when ^neas asked if Troilus were within, the 
old gossip feigned not to know it. * ' What should 
he do here?" he asked ; but to .Eneas' s impatient 
request that Troilus should speak with him, Troilus 
himself made answer. In a few words ^neas 
told him his errand, and Troilus, submitting like 
a brave soldier, went forward to meet Diomedes 
and Antenor. Presently he returned with these 
and Paris, and, while the rest waited without, 
Troilus went in to bring forth Cressida. Pan- 
darus had been quick to tell her what threatened, 
and when she saw Troilus she fell into his arms, 
weeping. ''And is it true that I must go from 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 63 

Troy?" cried she. "A hateful truth," he said. 
' ' We two, that with so many thousand sighs did 
buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves with the 
rude brevity of a single sigh," and he poured forth 
his heart in a storm of loving words, which pres- 
ently ^neas interrupted from without. '*Hark! 
you are called ! the Genius so cries * Come !' to 
him that instantly must die," said Troilus ; but to 
prolong the dear moment of parting he answered 
^neas that she would come anon, and, with one 
last embrace, again bid her be true of heart. '* I 
true ! how now ?' ' she said, surprised at his little 
confidence; but he pleaded the bitter parting as 
his excuse, and said that he meant only, "Be thou 
true, and I will see thee." She trembled lest he 
should be exposed to dangers ; but he said he 
would grow friend with danger, and he gave her 
as a parting keepsake a sleeve to wear as a token 
of his love. In exchange, she gave him one of 
her gloves. ' ' When shall I see you ?' ' she asked. 
* ' I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels to pay you 
nightly visits; but yet, be true," said he. She 
drew back, vexed at his importunity. ' ' Hear why 
I speak it, love," he implored. ''The Grecian 
youths are so full of quality, flowing and swelling 
over with arts and exercise, that a kind of godly 
jealousy makes me afraid." She accused him of 
loving her not, so much she resented his false sus- 
picions ; but he said he should die a villain if he 
did not wholly love her ; yet he persisted that in 
each grace of the Greeks there lurked a still devil 



64 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

that tempts most cunningly. *' But," he begged, 
''be not tempted!" *'Do you think I will?" 
asked Cressida, half angry now at his doubts. He 
said no, at last ; but at the same moment, .^neas, 
growing impatient, called again, whereupon the 
lovers kissed and parted. At the door Cressida 
was delivered over to Diomedes ; but Troilus said 
he would not leave her until they had reached the 
gates of the city ; nor did he, but walked by her 
side, telling Diomedes what manner of maid she 
was. ' ' Entreat her fair, ' ' he said, ' ' and by my 
soul, fair Greek, if ever you stand at mercy of my 
sword, name Cressida and your life shall be as safe 
as Priam is in Ilion." 

When, in the early morning, Diomedes with 
Cressida approached the Grecian camp, they saw 
the lists set out for the combat between Hector 
and Ajax, and all the generals assembled to behold 
the fight. But Hector had not yet appeared, and 
Ajax, clad in his massive armor, grew impatient. 
He bid his herald crack his lungs in a great blast 
on the trumpet; but no trumpet sounded in return. 
As they listened eagerly for some sign from Hec- 
tor, Diomedes and Cressida came into view in the 
dim morning light, and Agamemnon asked, "Is 
this the lady Cressida?" Diomedes told him that 
it was, and the king gave her a fair greeting on the 
lips, whereupon each lord in his turn saluted her 
in like manner. Cressida seemed not displeased 
at this ; but when Diomedes led her away to her 
father, the wise Ulysses, who knew that a woman's 



TROILUS AND CRESSIdA. 65 

sweetness lay in modesty and not in a bold scat- 
tering of her favours, cried out, fie upon her, and 
said there was a language in her eye, her cheek, 
her lip, nay, that her very foot spoke wantonness. 

But before Cressida had quite vanished among 
the tents, the great Hector and his train came into 
the lists, ^neas, his brother, greeted the Greeks 
with fair words and asked whether the fight should 
be to the edge of all extremity or should be limited 
by any conditions. Hector, he said, cared not, 
but would be pleased at either decision. Then 
Achilles, who had been, through the i\f;yi-ccs of 
Nestor and Ulysses, placed seocud to Ajax, and 
was therefore giid to p-einl out any affront to that 
warrior, answered that this was done like Hector, 
but done a little proudly and a great deal under- 
estimating the knight Oijposed to him. ^neas 
said that that which looked like pride in Hector 
was courtesy, a merited rebuke to the selfish 
Achilles ; and he further told him that as Ajax 
was half made of Hector's blood, being his near- 
related cousin, half of Hector, in love for him, 
stayed at home. 

At this same moment Diomedes came back, and 
King Agamemnon bid him agree with ^neas 
upon the terms of the combat; and when all these 
preliminaries were settled the opponents entered 
the list, and the fight began. Each knight was 
cheered on by shouts from his own side, and 
mighty blows were rained down upon the ringing 
armor, till at last the judges cried enough, and the 
III. — e 6* 



66 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

panting warriors separated. Ajax vowed he was 
not yet warm and was eager to begin again ; but 
Hector said he would have no more, for Ajax was 
his father's sister's son, and that obUgation of their 
blood forbid a gory emulation between them. He 
embraced Ajax, as the fashion then was, and bid 
him farewell ; upon which the bold Greek, though 
little schooled in courtesies, asked his famous 
cousin to come to the Grecian tents; and Dio- 
medes, seconding the request, said it was Aga- 
memnon's wish, and that the great Achilles did 
ionjr ^^ '^ee the valiant Hector unarmed. With 
this, the nuble T icj^.n bid Troilus go with him, and^ 
sending away his othei followers, went hand in 
hand with Ajax to see the Grecian knights. 

Each general in turn greeted him, and lastly 
Achilles, with whom he exchanged many friendly 
threats, and whom he entreated to let the Trojans 
see him in the field. Achilles was stung by this 
request, and said that on the morrow he would 
meet Hector, fell as death ; but to-night all should 
be friends. They shook hands upon this match ; 
then all but Troilus and Ulysses entered Agamem- 
non's tent, there to feast and make merry; and as 
they sat about the board the tambourines beat 
loud and the trumpets blew a lusty welcome to the 
great soldier, their guest. 

But Ulysses, who had been detained a moment 
from entering by Troilus, told the young Trojan, 
at his earnest entreaty, that he might find Calchas 
that night at the tent of Menelaus, where he feasted 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 67 

with his daughter and Diomedes ; and, knowing 
not that he sent unutterable pangs to the heart of 
Troilus, he told him how, since Cressida had come 
to the camp, Diomedes looked neither to heaven 
nor to earth, but bent all his gaze upon her alone. 
Troilus did not betray his feelings; but only- 
begged Ulysses to bring him to Menelaus's tent 
after they had parted from Agamemnon ; and this 
Ulysses gladly consented to do. 

At last the revelling in the leader's terit was over, 
and the Greek lords and their guests parted, some 
to retire and some to renew the feast at the tent of 
Achilles, who had invited Hector to visit him also. 
Old Nestor tarried for this, and Achilles asked 
Diomedes; but the young soldier said he could 
not stay, for he had important business then press- 
ing, and so went forth with his torch into the 
darkness. " Follow his torch, he goes to Calchas* 
tent," whispered Ulysses to Troilus, and offered 
to keep him company. These two went speedily 
after Diomedes, and presently found him hailing 
Calchas at his tent. The Greek asked for Calchas's 
daughter, and the soothsayer's voice from within 
said, " She comes to you." The two eavesdrop- 
pers stood close, where the torch would not dis- 
cover them, and in an instant they saw Cressida 
came forth. " How now, my charge ?" asked Dio- 
medes, tenderly. ' ' Now, my sweet guardian, a 
word with you, ' ' said she, and the two went apart 
whispering together. ' ' Will you remember ?' ' 
Troilus heard his rival ask. ** Remember? yes," 



68 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

quoth she ; ' ' but sweet honey Greek, tempt me 
no more to folly." Then Diomedes pretended to 
go from her, and she detained him, crying, " Hark! 
one word in your ear !' ' 

This scene awoke all the bitterness of Troilus's 
soul. He could have fallen upon them then and 
there; but he nobly restrained himself and showed 
his pain only in broken exclamations. Ulysses 
saw that he was moved, and proposed that they 
should depart lest his displeasure grow beyond 
control. But Troilus would not go. ' ' See, she 
strokes his cheek!" he muttered, and then Cres- 
sida disappeared into the tent and brought forth 
a token for her new lover. *' Here, Diomed," 
said she, "keep this sleeve," and Troilus saw that 
it was the very sleeve he had given her as a token 
of love on the night of their parting. * ' O beauty ! 
where' s thy faith ?" he groaned; and again Ulysses 
warned him to be patient. 

For one moment Cressida felt a twinge of con- 
science. She said to Diomedes, * ' You look upon 
that sleeve ; behold it well. He loved me — O 
false wench !" and then she snatched at it to have 
it back. ' ' Whose was it ?' ' asked the Greek. 
" No matter, now I have it again," said she, and 
the remembrance of her love for Troilus overcom- 
ing her present fancy, she told him she could not 
meet him to-morrow night, and bid him visit her 
no more. For the moment Troilus's hope was 
high; but instantly Diomedes snatched the sleeve, 
and a pretty encounter took place between him 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 69 

and Cressida, who, when he pressed to know its 
owner, said, at last, '''Twas one that loved me 
better than you will; but now you have it, take 
it." Then the young Greek bound the token on 
his helmet, saying that on the morrow it should 
grieve the spirit of him who dared not challenge 
it. Troilus, almost leaping from his concealment, 
muttered, fiercely, ' ' Wert thou the devil, and 
wore it on thy horn, it should be challenged." 

When Diomedes had finally parted from her, 
Cressida lingered in the darkness, and Troilus 
could hear her murmur, ' ' Troilus, farewell ! one 
eye yet looks on thee; but the other eye perceives 
where my heart is." ''All's done, my lord," 
Ulysses said anon, and slowly they departed, 
Troilus scarcely believing that what he had heard 
and seen could be true. 

As they paced onward they encountered ^neas, 
who had, he said, been seeking his brother 
this hour. He told them that Hector was even 
then arming in Troy and that Ajax stayed to 
conduct them home. Troilus gratefully thanked 
Ulysses and bid him adieu, and then, groaning 
a farewell to his fair one and uttering a threat 
against Diomedes, he started away with ^neas. 

When they reached Troy, Hector was in arms 
and was about to set out for the battle-field; but 
he was restrained by his wife Andromache and his 
sister Cassandra, the prophetess, for they had both 
dreamed ominous dreams and feared the day por- 
tended ill to him. They clung about his great 



70 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

armoured form and pleaded with him not to go, 
but he told them that, though every man holds 
life dear, yet the true man holds honour far more 
precious than life, and that he stood engaged to 
many Greeks to appear that morning against 
them. Even his father, the venerable King 
Priam, prayed him not to go ; but Hector was 
firm, for his oath was passed, and, rebuking them 
for their vain forebodings, he. set bravely forth. 
*'0 farewell, dear Hector," wailed Cassandra 
after him. " Look, how thou diest! look, how thy 
eye turns pale ! Look, how thy wounds do bleed 
at many vents. Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hec- 
uba cries out! How poor Andromache shrills her 
dolours forth ! Behold ! distraction, frenzy, and 
amazement, like witless antics, meeting one an- 
other, and all cry, Hector ! Hector's dead ! O 
Hector!" Thus pitifully foreteUing the woe that 
was to be, she threw a cloud of grief over the 
great soldier's setting out; but his heart was too 
bold to be stayed by such womanly fears, and he 
went valiantly on against the foe. 

Troilus was not long in following Hector; and 
when he reached the field his first encounter was 
with Diomedes, who by some mischance captured 
his horse and instantly sent it ofi" to Cressida as 
signifying that he had conquered the amorous 
Trojan. But this was in no wise the truth, and 
Troilus sought out a later opportunity for taking 
his revenge. 

Hector fought with a matchless valour that day, 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 7I 

and exceeded all he had ever done before in mighty 
blows. There seemed, as old Nestor said, a thou- 
sand Hectors in the field, for now here he fought 
on Galathe his horse, and anon he would be 
there on foot; and again there the Greeks flew 
before him like shoals of fish before the belching 
whale ; and in another instant he would be yonder 
where they fell down before him like a mower's 
swath. Patroclus, the friend of Achilles, was slain, 
among others, and the Greeks, in despair of hold- 
ing the field against Hector, sent his body to 
Achilles, for they knew that, if anything could 
arouse the proud and indolent soldier, the sight 
of his dear companion's body would do it. And 
presently Ulysses, who had carefully watched for 
some sign of Achilles' s wrath, came joyously forth 
with the news that the mightiest of the Greeks 
was arming, weeping, cursing, and vowing ven- 
geance. Ajax, also, who had grown surly through 
the prolonged peace, was arming because of Pa- 
troclus' s death. He foamed at the mouth and was 
at it, roaring for Troilus, who had that day done 
mad and fantastic execution on his friends. 

It was not long before Achilles was a-field. 
' * Where is this Hector ?' ' he shouted. * * Come, 
come, thou boy-queller, show thy face; know what 
it is to meet Achilles angry;" and, as if to answer 
his boastful threat. Hector was at hand on the in- 
stant. The huge Greek plunged at him without 
warning, but Hector out of courtesy bid him 
pause. Achilles cried out against courtesy, but 



72 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

said that the proud Trojan, as he called him, might 
be happy that his arms were out of practice, for 
that his long rest and negligence would now be- 
friend him. But he accepted the heroic Hector's 
truce, and retired, threatening that the Trojan 
should hear of him again. "Fare you well," 
said Hector, ' ' I would have been a fresher man 
had I expected you," and he turned to meet 
Troilus, who just then came up, crying that Ajax 
had taken ^neas, and vowing that he would be 
taken too or bring him off. 

But Achilles, notwithstanding his great fame and 
marvellous strength, felt it needful to resort to 
stratagem to conquer Hector. He called about 
him his Myrmidons and bid them attend where he 
wheeled, but to strike not a stroke until he had 
found the bloody Hector. Then, he commanded, 
they must empale him round about with their 
weapons and execute their arms in the most deadly 
manner, for it was decreed that Hector the great 
must die. 

Thus instructed, the band followed their leader 
through the field until the Trojan was overtaken, 
and when they met, Achilles cried, ''Look, Hec- 
tor, how the sun begins to set, and how ugly night 
comes breathing at his heels ; even so does the 
day of Hector's life draw to a close." But the 
noble Trojan had slung his shield behind him and 
put up his sword, because the sun was low and 
the twilight at hand, and he showed Achilles that 
he was unarmed, and begged him, as he himself 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 73 

had already done, to forego his advantage. But 
Achilles steeled his heart against honour and 
knightly courtesy, and he commanded his fellows 
to strike without mercy, for here was the man he 
sought. This they did with deadly aim, Achilles 
crying the while : ' ' So, Ilion, fall thou ! now, 
Troy, sink down ! here lies thy heart, thy sinews, 
and thy bone!" Then he bid his soldiers to shout 
aloud that Achilles had slain the mighty Hector ; 
and as they raised their voices the cry was an- 
swered by the signal of retreat which sounded 
through the Grecian ranks, followed in turn by 
the Trojan trumpets ; for the night had fallen and 
the bloody day was over. 

At Achilles' s command his Myrmidons tied the 
great Hector's body to his horse's tail, and he 
drew him, clanking in his steel, along the field. 
Great shouts went up among the Greeks at the 
news of Hector's death ; but when Troilus reached 
the Trojan camp with the fatal tidings, there was 
a grief so deep that hope of revenge alone bore 
the warriors up for the march back to Troy. 
"Who shall tell Priam and Hecuba?" groaned 
Troilus. ' ' The word will turn him to stone, make 
Niobes of maids and wives, and cold statues out 
of youth. Hector is dead ! There is no more 
to say." And then, stretching his arm aloft in 
defiance towards the Grecian tents, he uttered a 
curse against them and the great-sized coward 
Achilles, and passed with his heavy-hearted forces 
onward to Troy. 

D 7 



KfNG JOHN 



'AWOy V>7A'A 



KING JOHN. 



WHEN Richard the Lion Heart was killed 
by a French arrow at Chaluz, his domin- 
ions fell by inheritance to his nephew Arthur, son 
of Geffrey Plantagenet, Duke of Brittany. But 
Arthur was not allowed to take his own, for his 
uncle, John, usurped the throne of England and 
laid clairn,!, as well, to Arthur's dukedom of Brit- 
tany. Philip, the French king, for some hidden 
purpose, espoused the cause of Constance, the 
mother of Arthur, and of the young duke himself, 
and this led to an invasion of France by the 
English King John. 

The two armies met before a town in France 
called Anglers, which acknowledged allegiance to 
the English throne; but would not open its gates 
to the usurping English king until he had done 
battle with the French, and made good his unlaw- 
ful claim to kingship. 

It was a brilliant company of kings, princes, 
and warriors in the apparel of war which was 
gathered at the great gates of the town, and 

75 



76 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

with them came the noble ladies of either realm. 
Queen Elinor, the mother of King John and grand- 
mother of Duke Arthur, with Blanch of Spain, 
the usurper's niece, were with the English; and 
Constance, the mother of Arthur, was in the train 
of Philip of France. 

King John had met the French king with a 
peaceful greeting, notwithstanding the battalions 
of dauntless English spirits who followed him, 
wearing upon their backs their entire fortunes 
turned into the gear of war. But there was a 
menace beneath his courtesy, and if Philip refused 
him entrance upon what he boldly called his own, 
then should France bleed and peace be broken. 

King Philip was equally forbearing in his an- 
swer ; but he insisted on the claims of Duke 
Arthur, of whom he was rightful guardian, and 
condemned the usurpation of his throne. Eng- 
land, Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, and Maine, he 
said, were Arthur's realms, and he demanded them 
from King John, and bid him lay down his arms 
and surrender them. 

But John proudly defied King Philip, and com- 
manded Arthur of Brittany to yield to him, prom- 
ising him more than the coward hand of France 
could ever win. 

" Come to thy grandame, child," coaxed Queen 
Elinor; and Constance, his mother, mocked the 
queen with babyish words ; but Arthur himself, 
who was a manly little prince, and hated all the 
coil that was being made for him, bid them to be 



KING JOHN. 77 

at peace. In despair, he said he would rather be 
laid low in his grave than be the cause of the 
contention he had aroused. Hereupon, Queen 
Elinor and Constance fell to scolding at each 
other with tongues made the bitterer by the im- 
minent war, until King John cried out in anger, 
''Have done!" Just at this same moment the 
citizens of Anglers appeared above upon the walls, 
and made answer that they would prove loyal to 
him who proved himself king by gage of battle. 

Thus urged on to the fight, King John com- 
manded his warriors to ride up higher to the plain 
and there set forth their regiments to the best 
advantage ; while King Philip rode forward to 
occupy an opposite hill. 

Then there arose a great noise of clashing arms 
and the shouts of onset and neighing of horses, 
mingled with the groans of the wounded. The 
fight was fierce enough, as the men of Anglers 
could see from their walls, but neither side had the 
advantage, so that when the opposing heralds of 
King John and King Philip appeared at the city 
gate and demanded allegiance for either side, the 
citizens refused to open until the battle had been 
fought out and one side was proclaimed the victor. 
For, repeated they, they would acknowledge the 
king of England only when they knew him. 

Then the Bastard, as he was called, a natural 
son of Richard the Lion Heart, proposed a new 
method of settling the warfare, which would, at 
the same time, punish Anglers for its obstinacy. 

7* 



5r8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

The town flouted the kings, he said ; her citizens, 
standing securely on the battlements, gaped and 
pointed at their acts of death. He urged them, 
therefore, to be friends a while, and to join in 
bending their sharpest malice against Angiers. 
France should go to the east, and England to 
the west, and mount their battering cannon over 
against each other till their soul-fearing clamors 
should brawl down the flinty ribs of the city. 
That done, they should dissever their united 
strengths and turn face to face in a new battle for 
supremacy. 

This counsel pleased the kings well, and they 
began forthwith to plan for the assault. England 
chose the western position, and France and Aus- 
tria, the ally of France, purposed to be opposite 
at the north and south, which much beguiled the 
Bastard, for, quoth he, with secret rejoicing, '' Aus- 
tria and France shoot in each other's mouth. I'll 
stir them to it. ' ' 

But now the citizens of Angiers began to be 
mightily alarmed, and appealed to the kings to 
hear them before they proceeded to the bombard- 
ment. This was granted them all the more readily 
because the aim of the new plan was to bring them 
to hear reason and not actually to destroy so costly 
and fair a city. ' ' Speak on with favour, ' ' said 
King John ; and the spokesman of the town 
made this proposal : ' ' That daughter there of 
Spain, the Lady Blanch," said he, "is niece to 
England. Look upon the years of Lewis the 



KING JOHN. 79 

dauphin of France, and that lovely maid. If love 
should go in quest of beauty, or virtue, or birth, 
where should he find them fairer than in Blanch ? 
and the young dauphin is her equal in all things. 
A union between these two shall do more than 
a battery against our fast-closed gates, for at this 
match they shall be flung open wide and give you 
entrance; but without this match the sea itself is 
ilot half so deaf, nor death half so peremptory as 
are we to keep this city." 

Urged by the crafty Queen Elinor, and ques- 
tioned by King Philip, John replied that if the 
dauphin could find it in his heart to love the 
princess, her dowry should weigh equal with a 
queen's, for he should receive with her Anjou, 
Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, and all that England 
owned on that side the sea, excepting only the 
city now besieged. "What say'st thou, boy?" 
cried King Philip; and the dauphin, who was 
gazing with eyes full of a new-born love upon the 
Lady Blanch, was quick to protest that he never 
half so much loved even himself as now when he 
found himself drawn in the flattering table of her 
eye. He led her aside, and they whispered to- 
gether the warm words of an instantaneous pas- 
sion, until presently King John bade them declare 
aloud their love. This done, their hands were 
joined by King Philip, while the Duke of Austria 
called upon them to join their lips as well. Then 
the king of France cried aloud to the citizens of 
Anglers to open their gates and let in the amity 



8o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

which they had made, for at St. Mary's chapel the 
rites of marriage should forthwith be solemnized. 

The Lady Constance had before the battle re- 
tired to the French camp, and was not present 
during this last turn of affairs. She was sad and 
passionate at King Philip's tent ; but had she 
known of the new league formed with her foes, 
her sadness would have found Httle cure in the 
unhappy news. The kings, therefore, set about 
healing the wound they had inflicted upon her by 
planning that young Arthur should be created 
Earl of Richmond, and that he should be lord of 
the rich fair town of Angiers. * ' Call the Lady Con- 
stance to our solemnity," commanded King John, 
and he passed onward into Angiers with his long 
array of followers clanking their arms and flying 
the banners of England at his back. 

When Constance heard that Lewis was pledged 
to marry Blanch she refused to believe it, for this 
was a baseness in the French king which she could 
not credit. She had his oath to the contrary; and 
she threatened the messenger with punishment for 
frightening her: a woman sick and capable of fears, 
a widow, oppressed with wrongs. * ' Lewis marry 
Blanch!" she cried. "Oh, boy, then where art 
thou ? France friend with England ! Then what 
becomes of me !" and wailing thus, she seated 
herself upon the ground in very despair and re- 
fused to obey the command of the king. * * I will 
not go with thee. I will instruct my sorrows to be 
proud. Let kings assemble to me, for my grief is 



KING JOHN. 8l 

SO great that no supporter but the huge firm earth 
can hold it up. Here sit I and sorrow. Here is 
my throne, and kings shall come and bow to it. ' ' 

As she leaned over and lamented aloud in the 
excess of her suffering, the whole warlike company 
of kings and nobles approached where she sat. 
King Philip soothed her with words which feigned 
to overlook her sorrow in the joy of France ; but, 
made more stately by grief, she rose to her feet, 
and heaped upon him the bitterness of her soul. 
The Duke of Austria especially did she reproach 
for his duplicity, for he had sworn upon his stars, 
his fortune, and his strength to be her soldier, and 
now he had fallen over to her foes. ' ' Thou wear 
a lion's skin !" she cried, scornfully. " Doff it in 
shame, and hang a calf-skin on those recreant 
limbs!" And Austria, who was at heart a brag- 
gart, answered : " O that a man should speak 
those words!" Whereupon the Bastard, who was 
nimble of wit as well as brave, repeated them 
again and again, but took no harm from the duke. 

But now came hastening up the papal legate, 
Pandulph, hailing the kings with much reverence 
and announcing his errand: " In the name of Pope 
Innocent," quoth he, turning then to King John, 
" I do demand why thou against the church, our 
mother, so wilfully dost spurn, and keep Stephen 
Langton, chosen Archbishop of Canterbury, from 
that holy see?" King John answered with slight 
regard for the pope, and bade his messenger reply 
to him that no Italian priest should tithe and toll 
in.-/ 



82 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

in his dominions. But this was blasphemy in the 
ears of King Philip, and he remonstrated with his 
irreverent brother, but to no avail, for John was a 
bold heart and feared nothing in the achievement 
of his dark purposes, which were all the more 
dangerous because in lacking conscience he kept 
a mighty courage. 

' ' Then, ' ' pronounced Pandulph, * ' by the lawful 
power that is given me, thou shalt stand accursed 
and excommunicated, and he shall be blessed who 
doth revolt from his allegiance to an heretic, and 
that hand shall be called meritorious which takes 
away, by any secret course, thy hateful life." The 
legate, seeing that the papal curse alarmed the 
King of France, bade him let go the hand of King 
John, while Queen Elinor and Constance pleaded 
each as her cause swayed her. But Lewis, the 
dauphin, urged his father rather to risk the light 
loss of the friendship of England than purchase 
a heavy curse from Rome, and Blanch, now his 
wife, foreseeing the approaching trial to her loy- 
alty, begged it be the curse of Rome. * ' O Lewis, 
stand fast !' ' said Constance ; * ' the devil tempts 
thee in likeness of a new-made bride." 

King Philip, whose nature was not a firm one, 
wavered between this opposing counsel, and finally 
threw himself upon the legate for direction. Should 
he make war against a friend whose amity he had 
just won through holy wedlock ? Should he thus 
play fast and loose with faith? Pandulph was 
unswerving in his enemity to England so long as 



KING JOHN. 83 

King John refused obedience to the pope, and 
he therefore urged King PhiHp to take up arms 
and be the champion of the church, otherwise he 
too would fall under the papal curses and die 
beneath their black weight. The dauphin cried 
to arms, in spite of his bride's sad pleading, even 
upon her knees, while Constance, also kneeling, 
prayed him not to alter the doom of Heaven. 

At last King Philip, under threat of an imme- 
diate curse from Pandulph, gave way and boldly 
broke his bond with England. King John swore 
that he should rue the hour within the hour, and 
set about his preparations for another onset. But 
the lot of the Princess Blanch, newly married to 
the dauphin, was the unhappiest of all, for she 
must make choice between a lover and a loving 
kinsman, and whichever side won, on that side 
she would lose. She went dutifully with her hus- 
band, but where her fortune lived, said she, there 
died her life. 

The fight raged long and hotly. The lusty 
Bastard sought and found revenge upon the Aus- 
trian duke and carried away his craven head as a 
trophy. There was advance and retreat upon both 
sides, but step by step the English won the day. 
The young Duke Arthur, the coveted prize of 
England, fell into King John's cruel hands, giving 
him hope at last of security on his English throne. 

As King John and his attendant lords drew to- 
gether on the victorious field, near Anglers, he 
spoke gently to his nephew and strove to soften 



84 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

his grief, but Arthur was not grieving for himself, 
and nothing could stanch the pitiful tears which 
flowed for his mother. 

But the sympathy of King John was not deep, 
for he turned away from the grieving lad to make 
hasty uses of his conquest. He commanded that 
his mother, Queen Elinor, should stay behind in 
France, while the Bastard should hie away for 
England before his own coming to shake revenue 
out of the bags of hoarding abbots : for the fat 
ribs of peace must now be fed upon by the hungry 
warriors. 

Then the king drew Hubert, his trusty cham- 
berlain, aside and unburdened his heart of a pur- 
pose which had long lain there like a smouldering 
ember ready when time was ripe to leap into 
flame. In an endearing and familiar tone he called 
Hubert close to his side and thanked him over- 
well for his long love, as one will remember to do 
when he desires some favour more difficult than 
usual to be done. ' ' Give me thine hand, ' ' said 
the king, gravely. '^ I had a thing to say, — but I 
will fit it to some better time. By Heaven, Hubert, 
I am almost ashamed to say what good respect I 
have of thee." Hubert answered that he was 
much bounden to his majesty, and humbly awaited 
what was to be revealed. ' ' Good friend, ' ' the 
king began anew, ' * thou hast no cause to say so 
yet ; but thou shalt have. I had a thing to say, 
— but let it go. The sun is in the heaven, and the 
proud day is all too wanton to give me audience. 



KING JOHN. 85 

If the midnight bell did with his iron tongue and 
brazen mouth sound on into the drowsy race of 
night, if this same were a churchyard and thou 
wert possessed with a thousand wrongs, or if that 
surly spirit, melancholy, had baked thy blood and 
made it heavy-thick, or if that thou couldst see 
me without eyes, hear me without ears, and make 
reply without a tongue, using conceit alone, then, 
in despite of watchful day, I would pour my 
thoughts into thy bosom. But, ah, I will not! — 
yet I love thee well ; and, by my troth, I think 
thou lovest me well." "So well," said Hubert, 
''that what you bid me undertake, though death 
were its adjunct, by Heaven, I would do it!" 

Then the king looked watchfully around till his 
stealthy eyes alit upon the young duke, his pris- 
oner, where he stood in talk with the queen. 
' ' Good Hubert, Hubert, ' ' he said, repeating the 
name as his averted gaze watched the boy, — 
* ' Hubert, throw thine eye on yon young boy. 
I'll tell thee what, my friend, he is a very serpent 
in my way ; wheresoever my foot treads he lies 
before me. Dost thou understand me? Thou 
art his keeper." 

Hubert made promise that he should not further 
offend his majesty. * ' Death, ' ' hissed King John, in 
a prolonged whisper. Hubert was startled. * ' My 
lord?" he questioned. ''A grave," whispered 
the king. Then Hubert understood. ' ' He shall 
not live," he said; and the king said, shifting his 
black mood to a gay one, ' ' Enough. I could be 

8 



86 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

merry now. Hubert, I love thee. Well, I'll not 
say what I intend for thee. Remember !" and he 
strode with fair words up to his mother and the 
young duke, to whom he turned at last and bid 
him depart for Calais forthwith, at the same time 
appointing Hubert to be his man to attend on him 
and do him all true duty. 

When the trusty Hubert had finally reached 
England with the little prisoner and secured him 
in his own castle, he set about executing the evil 
wishes of the king with a heart not so base as it 
was loyal to its master. The king's commands 
had now been conveyed to the chamberlain in a 
letter which decreed that Arthur's eyes must be 
burned out with hot irons. Two attendants of 
the castle were engaged by Hubert for the cruel 
work, but he himself felt in duty bound to see it 
performed. He agreed with his henchmen that 
when, after entering Arthur's cell, he should stamp 
his foot as a signal, they should rush forth and 
bind the boy fast to the chair. One of the men 
was fearful of the consequences of such a deed, 
but Hubert frowned upon his uncleanly scruples 
and bade him fear not. Then the attendants with- 
drew into concealment among the arras' folds, and 
the chamberlain called to the young lad to come 
forth. 

Fair was the greeting which passed between 
them, for Arthur suspected no wrong from one 
whom he had learned to love. He noticed that 
Hubert was sad, who answered, "Indeed, I have 



KING JOHN. 3^ 

been merrier." Then the little prince, whom suf- 
fering had taught to be over- wise, prattled on in 
his childish mood. " By my Christendom," quoth 
he, ' ' so I were out of prison and kept sheep, I 
should be as merry as the day is long;" and so he 
might have been, even where he was, but that he 
doubted his uncle, the king, practised more harm 
against him. At last he said, with a sweet touch 
of pathos, that it was not his fault that he was 
Geffrey's son, and, ending with a sigh, exclaimed, 
' * I would to Heaven I were your son, Hubert. ' ' 
This appeal almost overcame the grim chamber- 
lain's sense of duty. He hardly dared to listen 
to the boy's innocent prate, for he knew it would 
awaken a mercy which now lay dormant. But 
Arthur noticed the struggle pictured in his grim 
face, and asked if he were sick. *' In sooth, I wish 
you were a little sick," he said; "that I might 
sit up all night and watch with you. I warrant, 
Hubert, I love you more than you do me. ' ' The 
stern man felt that he must act at once if he would 
do the deed at all. He thrust forth the king's 
letter into Arthur's hand, commanding him to 
read it. 

' ' And will you do this ?' ' asked Arthur. * ' Will 
you put out mine eyes, these eyes that never did 
so much as frown on you?" Hubert said, dog- 
gedly, that he had sworn it. Then he called forth 
the rough attendants, who came with cords and 
irons to do their foul work. 

Arthur, brave little soul that he was, and heir to 



88 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the Lion Heart's courage as well as his realms, 
said that he would not struggle, so he were not 
bound. He would stand stock-still if only these 
bloody men were sent away. Hubert ordered 
them to go within, for he would be alone with 
the boy, and they retired, one of them murmur- 
ing aloud his satisfaction at being released from 
such a deed. Hearing his words, Arthur lamented 
that he had chid away a friend, and asked to have 
him back. But Hubert was impatient to be done 
with the hateful work, and roughly bade Arthur 
prepare himself; replying to his pitiful appeals that 
there was no remedy, none. * ' Oh, spare mine 
eyes, ' ' pleaded the little prince, "if it is only to 
look upon you, Hubert !" And he made so 
grievous a moan and touched so deeply the heart 
of the stern chamberlain, with whom duty had 
become the supreme purpose, that at last he re- 
lented and vowed he would not touch the boy's 
eyes for all the treasure that his uncle owned. 
But he cautioned Arthur that the king must not 
know that he still lived, to which end he said the 
spies that dogged his heels should be filled with 
false reports. Then, at last, his own manlier feel- 
ings overcoming his mistaken steadfastness to the 
king's commands, he leaned down to the little 
prince and bade him sleep securely and without 
doubt of Hubert, for he would not offend him for 
all the wealth of the world, no matter how much 
danger he might undergo for his sake. 

The people of England had begun to murmur 



KING JOHN. 89 

against the imprisonment of the youth whom they 
held to be their lawful sovereign, and the great 
nobles, the earls of Salisbury and Pembroke, 
remonstrated with King John and requested Ar- 
thur's release. The king, knowing within him- 
self what he had commanded Hubert to do, and 
believing Arthur to be dead, feigned to grant their 
request ; then turning to Hubert, who had just 
entered the royal presence, he asked, "Hubert, 
what news with you?" The nobles whispered 
apart, for they secretly knew of Hubert's com- 
mission to kill Arthur, while the chamberlain 
falsely told the king that Arthur had died that 
very night. Then King John, with a satisfaction 
which he could ill conceal, turned to the whis- 
pering earls and said that the suit which they 
demanded was dead, for Arthur was deceased. 
They pretended to believe that the prince was 
carried off by a rumoured sickness, but the self- 
accused king thought he detected suspicion in 
the solemn brow of Pembroke, upon which he 
burst forth into a virtuous rage. Salisbury boldly 
charged that it was apparent foul play, and avowed 
it was a shame that greatness should so grossly 
commit murder. Then he and Earl Pembroke 
left the king's presence in hot indignation, secretly 
bent on discovering the prince's body, and the 
king awoke at last to the futility of his deed. 
* ' For, ' ' mused he, ' ' there is no sure foundation 
set on blood, and no certain life achieved by 
another's death." 

8* 



go TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Just at this same moment came panting in a 
messenger with the news that;, an invading army 
from France, led by the dauphin, had landed in 
England. He also brought the unwelcome tidings 
of Queen Elinor's death, and told that the Lady 
Constance had died in a frenzy but three days 
before. This accumulation of woes made the 
king giddy, as he said; but presently the Bastard 
came in and gave report that the people were 
wavering in their loyalty and listening eagerly to 
prophecies that the king would deliver up his 
crown before the next Ascension-day. King John 
was stunned, but not broken in spirit. He made 
quick preparations for defending his realm, and 
sent forth the Bastard to thrust himself into the 
company of his deserting nobles who were going 
to seek Arthur's grave, for, said he, I have a way 
to win their love again. 

When the Bastard had hastened out, Hubert 
came suddenly back bringing reports of dreadful 
portents in the sky, which, he said, old men and 
beldams in the street prophesied dangerously 
upon. Young Arthur's death was common in 
the mouths of all, and one would whisper another, 
griping his wrist as he made fearful action with 
wrinkled brows and rolling eyes. The smith 
stood idle, with open mouth, at his anvil, while 
the tailor, with hasty slippers thrust on contrary 
feet, told of the French army that was embattled 
in Kent. 

The king grew angry with excess of grief, and 



KING JOHN. 91 

finding in Hubert a ready victim on whom to 
heap the overflow of his despair, accused him of 
murdering young Arthur. ' ' I had a mighty 
cause to wish him dead, ' ' said he, ' ' but you had 
no cause to kill him." Such is the ingratitude 
between accomplices in evil. The king pretended 
that Hubert had mistaken his meaning ; but the 
chamberlain drew forth the royal letter and showed 
the king's hand and seal. Then, in the bitterness 
of his soul, King John broke into open abuse of 
his too-willing instrument. Had not Hubert been 
by, he said, a fellow marked by the hand of nature 
to do a shameful deed, the murder would never 
have come into his mind. To be endeared to a 
king, Hubert had destroyed a prince. If he had 
but turned an eye of doubt on the king's face as 
he spoke darkly, deep shame would have struck 
him dumb. But this he did not do, and the king 
blamed him as the cause of all his woes, bidding 
him to flee from his sight and never more to see 
him. 

Hubert felt now that there would be no danger 
in revealing his disobedience to the king's com- 
mands, and he acknowledged that he had not killed 
Arthur, but that the boy was still alive. 

King John was rejoiced to hear such welcome 
tidings, and he forgot Hubert's unfaithfulness to 
his commands in his joy at the discovery. He 
even begged the chamberlain to forgive the com- 
ment which, in a moment of passion, he had made 
upon his features, for he said his rage was blind 



92 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

and the foul eyes of blood presented Hubert to 
him as more hideous than he really was. They 
parted anon in haste, Hubert going forth to find 
the angry lords and bring them to the palace; and 
the king to his closet. 

When Hubert had consented to spare young Ar- 
thur's life he had dressed him in the clothes of a 
ship-boy, and thus thought to keep his existence a 
secret. But on the same night when the nobles 
went to search for his dead body, the little prince 
climbed to the walls of the castle where he was 
kept a prisoner, and, looking fearfully over at the 
great height he must leap to gain his freedom, felt 
afraid to venture. Yet, thought he, it is as good 
to die and go as die and stay, and with this to 
strengthen his resolution he leaped down on the 
hard stones beneath him and was instantly killed. 

Just as the unhappy young prince thus expired, 
the lords Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot, who had 
been in search of his slain body, reached the spot 
where he had fallen. They were overtaken there 
by the Bastard, who urged them to return to their 
allegiance to King John. This they refused to do. 
They would not, they said, attend the foot that 
left a print of blood wherever it walked, and they 
bade the Bastard to go back and give the king their 
defiant answer. Looking up at the walls before 
them, they then saw that they were standing be- 
side the prison; and almost at their feet they sud- 
denly discovered the body, made even more beau- 
tiful by death, of their young prince and king. A 



KING JOHN. 93 

burst of indignation and grief went up from them 
as they knelt about him. Each great noble gave 
vent to his abhorrence of the king's deeds, for 
they justly thought King John was chargeable with 
this crime, and each uttered his love for the sweet 
and royal youth so slain. ' ' All murders of the 
past," cried Pembroke, "do stand excused in 
this;" while Salisbury boldly accused Hubert of 
the shameful work, under the king's commands. 
Then they vowed, kneeling before the ruin of that 
sweet life, never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
nor be infected with delight, nor be conversant 
with ease and idleness, until they had set a glory 
to the young head by giving it the worship of 
revenge. 

At this moment Hubert approached in haste with 
the royal message, crying, ' ' Arthur doth live and 
the king hath sent for you." Instead of heeding 
him, they drew their swords and bid him avaunt 
for a hated villain. They heaped foul epithets 
Upon him, and would have slain him but for the 
interference of the Bastard. ' ' What wilt thou 
do," asked Bigot of Hubert's champion, ''second 
a villain and a murderer ?" " Lord Bigot, I am 
none," said Hubert. "Who killed this prince?" 
asked Lord Bigot. Hubert said that not an hour 
since he had left him well. " I honoured him and 
loved him, and I will weep my date of life out 
for his loss," he groaned. But Salisbury would 
neither trust his words nor his tears, for villany is 
not without such rheum; and flourishing his sword, 



94 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

he cried, * ' Away, with me, all who abhor the un- 
cleanly savours of a slaughter-house," and, with- 
out more parley, they sped away towards Bury, 
to join the dauphin, leaving the Bastard and Hu- 
bert beside young Arthur's corpse. When they 
were out of sight the Bastard questioned Hubert 
if he had done this fair work, this deed of death, 
for if he had he were damned as black as Prince 
Lucifer ; nay, there was not yet so ugly a fiend in 
hell as he, if he had killed that child. Hubert 
made solemn protest of his innocence, but all his 
most earnest words were weak to dispel suspicion, 
for the circumstances had conspired against him 
with an evil look. But as he took up the frail 
form in his arms the Bastard was moved by his 
tenderness. *'I am amazed," he said, ''and lose 
myself among the thorns and dangers of the 
world." Then, he added, aiding Hubert with a 
sad heart, ' ' How easy dost thou take all England 
up ;' * and they passed on to the palace. 

There they found that the king, bold-hearted 
though he was in war, and crafty in policy, had, 
through fear for his crown, entered into an in- 
glorious alliance with Pandulph, the pope's legate, 
whose ban of excommunication had brought about 
the war with France after the marriage of the 
Princess Blanch with the dauphin. In token of 
his obedience to the pope, King John had sur- 
rendered up his crown to Pandulph and then had 
received it back, thus becoming a vassal of the 
church. As all this happened upon Ascension- 



KING JOHN. 95 

day before noon, the king bethought him of the 
prophecy reported to him by the Bastard, but he 
rejoiced at so easy a fulfilment of the prophecy, 
for he had thought to be constrained by force 
to deliver up his crown, and he now thanked 
Heaven, forgetful of his humiliation, that it was 
but a voluntary act. But in return for that act 
he had bargained to be relieved of his French 
foes, for Pandulph, to requite him, had promised 
to dismiss the powers led by the dauphin and to 
rid England of their presence. This cowardly 
agreement did not please the Bastard. His fiery 
nature, English to the heart, was for revenge and 
war. ' * Shall a beardless boy brave our fields and 
find no check ?' ' he cried. * ' Let us, my liege, to 
arms." Perchance the cardinal, he suggested, 
could not do all he had promised; or, if he could, 
England should show at least a purpose of defence. 
The king left all to him as he should decide, and, 
with a flourish of his sword, the Bastard said, 
** Away, then, with good courage," and was gone 
to gather a force to oppose France. 

Pandulph quickly appeared in the dauphin's 
camp and announced King John's reconciliation 
with the church of Rome. He commanded, there- 
fore, that the French should wind up their threat- 
ening colours, and tame the savage spirit of war 
which animated them. But the dauphin's pride, 
and his ambition to rule in England through his 
wife's claim to the throne, which first had been 
aroused by the legate himself, together with the 



96 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

great expense he was under in the equipment of 
his expedition, all conspired to make him reject 
the legate's commands. He refused to retire from 
the field, and the wily Pandulph could find no 
reasoning to change his purpose. As they thus 
stood in argument there was a flourish of trumpets, 
and the Bastard approached. He had come, he 
said, to learn how the legate sped in his negotia- 
tions, and when he was told, he cried aloud, in 
his most boisterous mood, that the young dauphin 
had judged well. Thereupon he spoke for the 
English king, who, he said, was prepared to re- 
ceive the French in a warlike fashion, and to whip 
their pigmy arms from his territories. He then 
addressed the disloyal lords who had fled to the 
dauphin's ranks, merrily bidding them beware lest 
their own ladies and pale-visaged maids should 
come tripping forth against them, their thimbles 
turned into gauntlets, and their needles to lances, 
while their gentle hearts took on a fierce and 
bloody inclination. The dauphin strove to stem 
the torrent of his boasting, and bade him farewell; 
but the brave Bastard rattled on till the drums 
drowned his words. The fight was about to begin, 
and he retired in haste to his own forces. 

King John was ill with a fever, and did not take 
part in the battle. Accompanied by Hubert, he 
was carried in his litter, for safety and so that he 
might be near at hand, to Swinstead Abbey. The 
battle waged hotly, with varying advantage to 
the French and to the English, and at its end 



KING JOHN. 97 

neither side could wholly claim the day. During 
its course, upon the report of a certain French 
lord named Melun, the Lords Salisbury and Pem- 
broke were led to return to their allegiance. Lord 
Melun told them, as he lay dying, that the dauphin 
had resolved to behead them if he won the field, 
and they chose rather to brave the anger of King 
John than to suffer at the hands of Lewis. Hence 
it was that they, as well as the Bastard, hastened 
towards Swinstead Abbey, where lay the sick king. 
The offending lords, who brought Prince Henry, 
the king's son, in their company, were, at his 
request, pardoned by King John ; and when the 
Bastard arrived, with the ill news that half the 
English army had been overwhelmed with the 
tide of the Lincoln Washes, he found them about 
the king's couch in the abbey. As the lords and 
Prince Henry spoke together in the orchard, the 
king was carried forth in a chair. " Ay, marry," 
said he, as he felt the leaves above him, * ' now 
my soul has elbow-room. It would not out at 
windows or doors. ' ' He complained of a heat in 
his bosom that crumbled all his bowels to dust. 
He was, he said, like a scribbled form on a parch- 
ment which shrank up against a fire. 

In truth, a monk had poisoned the king, and he 
was consumed with an unbearable inward heat. 
None, he groaned, would relieve him by sticking 
icy fingers in his throat, nor would they let the 
rivers of his kingdom take their course through 
his burning bosom. Such were the agonized 

III.— E ^ 9 



98 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

words forced into his poor mouth by suffering. 
Prince Henry bent over him, weeping-. * ' Would, ' ' 
said the young prince, ' ' there were some virtue 
in my tears that might reheve you ;' ' but nothing 
could now relieve the dying king, and in the midst 
of his nobles and warriors, where they stood about 
him under the shadows of the orchard-trees, he 
died, leaving his realm to his heir. Prince Henry. 
When the Bastard was able to recover a moment 
from his grief, for he loved the king in spite of his 
many sins, he learned that Pandulph had lately 
arrived at the abbey Avith offers of peace from the 
dauphin, who desired to retire from the war. 
Thus the pope's legate, who had stirred the kings 
to war, became, for his own ends, the instrument 
of peace between them. King John's body was 
interred at Worcester, as he had willed it to be, 
and Prince Henry, relieved from the claims of the 
invading dauphin, was permitted to ascend the 
throne in peace 




KING RICHARD II. 



HENRY BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Here- 
ford, and Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, 
whom Bolingbroke suspected of disloyalty to King 
Richard the Second, quarrelled on that account 
and appeared before the king with bitter re- 
proaches and accusations against each other, 
which at last came to a defiance to mortal com- 
bat. The king, who was Bolingbroke' s kinsman, 
but who was, nevertheless, secretly jealous of him 
for his popularity with his subjects, seemed loath 
to grant the appeal to arms, but so hot were the 
disputants and so deep-rooted was their hatred that 
at last he consented and appointed Coventry as the 
place and Saint Lambert's day as the time for the 
meeting. 

On that day the lists were set out upon the open 
ground near Coventry, and a throne for the king 
and seats for his nobles and courtiers were ranged 
around them. There was a throng of heralds and 
trumpeters in attendance, and the whole company 
glittered in holiday apparel, for the champions 
were famous knights and the fight was to be a 

99 



lOO TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

valorous one. When the king was seated, and 
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster ; his nephew, 
Duke of Aumerle; the lord marshal, and other 
noblemen had entered, there was a flourish of 
trumpets, answered in turn by a second blast, and 
the Duke of Norfolk in armour came into the 
lists preceded by a herald. King Richard bid 
the marshal to demand of yonder champion the 
cause of his arrival there in arms, to learn his 
name, and to swear him in the justice of his cause. 

This being done in due order, and the duke 
having announced that he came under oath to 
defend his loyalty and truth to God, his king, and 
his succeeding issue against the Duke of Hereford, 
he took his seat, and awaited his opponent. An- 
other trumpet sounded, and Bolingbroke, also in 
armour and preceded by a herald, came into the 
lists and was greeted by the same questions. He 
made fitting answer, and the marshal cried aloud 
the conditions of the combat, whereupon Boling- 
broke craved to kiss the hand of the king, who, in 
his generous affection, descended from the throne 
and folded his cousin in his arms. Bolingbroke 
bid an affectionate adieu to his father, to Lord 
Aumerle, and to the lord marshal, after which he 
was ready to set his lance at rest, and begin the 
combat. 

The Duke of Norfolk also took a solemn fare- 
well of his friends, whereupon the marshal sent to 
each champion his respective lance. A herald then 
cried, "Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby 



KING RICHARD II. lOI 

stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, on 
pain to be found false and recreant, to prove the 
Duke of Norfolk a traitor to his God, his king, and 
him, and dares him to set forward to the fight." 
An opposing herald performed the same office for 
the Duke of Norfolk, and at last the knights stood 
over against each other awaiting the final signal. 
'* Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants," 
cried the marshal. A charge was blown and the 
knights started. But they came to a sudden halt, 
for the king threw down his warder and all was 
stopped. '' Let them lay by their helmets and 
spears and return to their chairs again," was the 
king's command. Then he withdrew, bidding the 
champions follow him that he might deliver to them 
his royal decree. This was that both of the con- 
tending nobles should quit the country and be ban- 
ished: Hereford for ten years and Norfolk forever; 
and they were compelled to take an oath upon the 
royal sword that they would be obedient to the de- 
cree and make no attempt to embrace each other's 
love while they were in banishment; nor look upon 
each other's face, nor write, contrive, nor plot 
against England's throne. 

The aged Gaunt showed visibly his grief at his 
son's harsh sentence, and the king, because he 
loved the old duke, said that his sad aspect had 
already plucked away four of the banished years, 
leaving but six. But Gaunt said he should reap 
little advantage from this leniency, for ere the six 
years could change their moons and bring their 

9* 



102 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

times about, his inch of taper would be burnt and 
done. The king tried to cheer him by telling him 
that he had many years to live, but the old duke 
was broken-hearted for his son and would not be 
comforted. Yet the king was obdurate, and the 
banished dukes immediately departed from Eng- 
land. 

Not long after this, as the king was on the point 
of setting out to quell a rebellion in Ireland, John 
of Gaunt was taken sick and prayed him to come 
to his bedside that he might listen to the sage 
advice of a dying man. King Richard was not 
displeased at the news of the duke's sickness, for 
he was in the last extremity to obtain money for 
his expedition to Ireland, and if Gaunt, his uncle, 
died while his direct heir, the Duke of Hereford, 
was banished, the king could claim all the duke's 
wealth for his own, using the lining of his uncle's 
coffers, as he said, to make coats for his soldiers. 

Gaunt uttered words of wholesome counsel when 
the king came; but, as might have been expected, 
they were little relished by the wilful Richard. 
He grew angry at the old duke's presumption, 
which all the more incensed him because the words 
or warning were well deserved. The royal cheek 
turned pale under admonishment, and at last, 
when the prudent attendants removed the dying 
nobleman from the room, the king burst forth into 
a passion. '' Let those," he cried, "that have age 
and the suUens die, for both become the grave. ' ' 

The duke did not long survive this encounter, 



KING RICHARD II. IO3 

and at his death his possessions were, with un- 
seemly haste, forfeited to the crown by order of 
the king, thus depriving the banished BoHngbroke 
of all his inheritance saving his noble title of Duke 
of Lancaster. 

When his hasty preparations were finished, 
thus aided by the unlawfully taken wealth of the 
house of Gaunt, King Richard set out for Ireland, 
leaving his uncle, the Duke of York, lord gov- 
ernor of England during his absence. The nobles 
and people of England were much dissatisfied 
with the king's conduct. He was basely led by 
flatterers, whose word he would take in preference 
to that of honest men ; and through the malice 
and cunning of his favourites he was brought to 
do injustice against the lives of his subjects, their 
children, and their heirs. He had burdened the 
common people with grievous taxes, and quite 
lost their hearts; he had fined the nobles for an- 
cient quarrels, and they also had fallen from him. 
In short, that which his ancestors had achieved 
with blows he had basely yielded in compromise, 
and had grown bankrupt like a broken man. 

Talking in secrecy of these things with his 
fellow-sufferers the Lords Ross and Willoughby, 
the Earl of Northumberland revealed to them that 
intelligence had reached him from a bay in Brit- 
tany, called Port le Blanc, that Harry, Duke of 
Hereford, as he still called him, with a gallant 
company of gentlemen well furnished by the Duke 
of Bretagne, was, with eight tall ships, making for 



I04 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

England with all due expedition, and meant shortly 
to touch the northern shore. * ' Perhaps, ' ' said 
he, ' ' they would have arrived ere this, but that 
they awaited the departure of the king for Ire- 
land." He then appealed to his friends to shake 
off their slavish yoke and redeem the blemished 
crown from pawn, and urged them to post away 
with him to Ravenspurg. At this Lord Ross 
cried, joyfully, *'To horse, to horse!" and with 
little delay they were in motion. 

Bolingbroke had landed before these lords ar- 
rived at the north, and they joined him as he 
travelled through the wilds of Glostershire seek- 
ing the castle of Berkley, whither his uncle the 
Duke of York had retired to be in readiness to 
defend England against his invasion. On the 
road thither Bolingbroke overtook the duke, to 
whom he made humble obeisance. * ' Show me 
thy humble heart, and not thy knee," said the 
aged York; and when his nephew would have 
pleaded his honesty, **Tut, tut!" said the duke, 
' * Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle. I 
am no traitor's uncle. Why have those banished 
legs dared to touch the dust of English ground? 
Why, why have they dared to march so far upon 
her peaceful bosom, frighting her villages with 
war?" The young duke pleaded his cause stoutly 
but temperately. When he was banished, he said, 
he was banished as Duke of Hereford; but as he 
came, he came as Duke of Lancaster. He told 
his wrongs in manly words: how, his father being 



KING RICHARD II. IO5 

dead, his rights and royalties were plucked from 
his arms perforce and given away to upstart spend- 
thrifts. He was a subject, and challenged the law, 
yet attorneys were denied him. Therefore he 
personally laid claim to his inheritance of free 
descent. 

The Duke of York was compelled to admit the 
justice of his nephew's claims, and, as he was pow- 
erless to take up arms against him, he remained 
neutral. Things past redress were, with him, 
past care. He invited Bolingbroke and his fol- 
lowers to his castle for the night, and the invi- 
tation was gladly accepted by the young duke, 
who in turn asked his uncle to go with him to 
Bristol Castle, which was held by Bushy, Bagot, 
and their accomplices, the caterpillars, as he said, 
of the commonwealth whom he had sworn to weed 
and pluck away. This in due time he did, for he 
captured them at Bristol and put them to death; 
after which he led his army into Wales in search 
of Glendower, an adherent of King Richard. 

In the mean while the king, who had heard of 
the invasion of his realms, hastened back from 
Ireland and landed with a few attendants and sol- 
diers on the coast of Wales near Barkloughly 
Castle. He was rejoiced to set foot again upon 
his native soil, and saluted the dear earth as if it 
had been able to understand his caresses. But 
he was much alarmed at the ill news which had 
reached him, though his courage and his deter- 
mination to crush the rebellion were firm. He 



I06 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

said that not all the water in the rough rude sea 
could wash the balm from an anointed king, and 
that for every man Bolingbroke had pressed to 
lift shrewd steel against his crown, he had a glori- 
ous angel in pay. But such boastful statements 
could not conceal the king's anxiety, and when 
the Earl of Salisbury, who had come to meet him, 
arrived, he asked eagerly for tidings that might 
allay his fears. * ' How far off do your forces 
lie ?' ' was the king' s first question ; but the earl 
had little comfort to give, for his forces, upon a 
rumour that the king was dead, had deserted him 
the day before, and gone over to Bolingbroke. 
The king was deeply saddened by the news; but 
when the Duke of Aumerle bade him take comfort 
and remember who he was, he said truly he had 
forgot himself, and cried, "Am I not king?" for 
he thought his uncle the Duke of York still had 
power enough to serve his turn. 

But at this moment Sir Stephen Scroop came 
hastening up with a salutation that betided no 
good news. The king bore this latest alarm with 
all the more fortitude that he had already suffered 
the previous reverses. Scroop's tidings were of 
new calamities. White beards had armed their 
thin and hairless scalps, he said, and boys with 
women's voices strove to speak big and clap their 
female joints in arms, while the very beadsmen 
bent bows against his state. The king asked 
where were his favourites, and the knight told him 
how they had all perished at the hand of Boling- 



KING RICHARD II. IO7 

broke. Hereupon Richard's pent-up feelings over- 
whelmed him, and he broke forth into lamentations. 
*' For heaven's sake," said he, in his despair, *' let 
us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the 
deaths of kings, for within the hollow crown that 
rounds the mortal temples of a king death keeps 
his court, and there sits scoffing at his state, infusing 
him with vain conceit, as if the flesh that walls our 
life about were impregnable brass. And at last 
he comes with a little pin, and bores through his 
castle walls and — farewell king!" In this vein 
Richard mourned his fallen fortunes, and would 
take little comfort ; but at last the inspiring as- 
surance of Aumerle that the Duke of York, his 
father, had yet a force at his command, awoke in 
the king his native courage, and his grief turned 
to defiance. But it was too brief a hope, for 
Scroop dashed it with the bitter news that his 
uncle York was joined with Bolingbroke. Then 
the king again bewailed his evil fate. He would 
hate him everlastingly, he said, who would bid 
him be of comfort any more; and he ordered his 
friends to go with him to Flint Castle, where, he 
said, he would pine away, obeying kingly woe. 

It was not long after the retirement of King 
Richard to Flint Castle that BoHngbroke's forces 
came in sight and held a council beneath its walls. 
They found the castle, much to their surprise, fly- 
ing the royal colours, which denoted that the king 
was there. Bolingbroke, when he had learned this, 
immediately sent Northumberland forward with a 



I08 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

message of loyalty to the king, saying he had 
come to lay his arms and power at Richard's feet 
provided his banishment were repealed and his 
lands restored. If this were not done he would 
use the advantage of his power, and lay the sum- 
mer's dust with showers of blood. As the noble 
messenger advanced with his trumpet toward^ 
the castle, Bolingbroke's force, to show their fair 
appointments, began to march upon the grassy 
plain, but without the sound of threatening drums, 
which might seem a menace. 

Northumberland blew a blast upon his trumpet, 
and was answered by another from within the castle, 
whereupon King Richard, surrounded by his little 
band of friends, came forth upon the walls for parley. 
When the message was delivered, the king made 
answer that his noble cousin Bolingbroke was right 
welcome, and that all his fair demands should be 
granted. But when Northumberland turned to 
go, the king's wonted strength came back to him, 
and he would have sent defiance to the traitor and 
died. But Aumerle counselled gentle words until 
time should send friends, and thus the deed was 
done which brought the king at last to ruin. ' * O 
God! O God!" he cried, in the bitterness of his 
impotency, ''that ever this tongue of mine, that 
laid the sentence of dread banishment on yon 
proud man, should take it off again with gentle 
words! O that I were as great as my grief is, or 
lesser than my name!" 

As he mourned thus, Northumberland came 



KING RICHARD II. 109 

back from Bolingbroke, at sight of whom Richard 
was stricken with a new grief. He would give up 
all, he said, in his fantastic woe, for a little grave; 
or be buried in the king's highway, where subjects' 
feet might hourly trample on their sovereign's 
head, as now whilst he lived they trod upon his 
heart. Northumberland approached within ear- 
shot, and the king turned to him, asking, ' ' What 
says King Bolingbroke ? Will his majesty give 
Richard leave to live till Richard die ?' ' The earl 
said that Bolingbroke attended the king below in 
the base court, and Richard, with many bitter jests 
upon his descent, went down to meet him. ' * Sor- 
row and grief of heart make him speak fondly, like 
a frantic man," said Northumberland as the king 
approached. 

Bolingbroke commanded all to kneel, and bent 
the knee himself " Fair cousin," quoth the king, 
' * you debase your princely knee. Your heart is 
up, I know, thus high," and he pointed to his head. 
Bolingbroke rose and made no claim but for his 
own ; and the king granted his prayer with mock 
bountifulness, saying, ' * They well deserve to have 
that know the strongest way to get. ' ' Then turn- 
ing to his uncle of York, who was in the train of 
Bolingbroke, he gave him his hand. ' ' Nay, dry 
your eyes," he said, softly, to the old duke, who 
wept for his king; and to his cousin of Hereford 
he surrendered himself up, for force, he said, would 
have him do what it would: which was to set on 
towards London. ' * Cousin, is it so ?' ' he asked; 

lO 



no TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

and Bolingbroke, as if he implored rather than 
commanded, said, "Yes, my good lord;" where- 
upon they set out across the land. 

When they came at last to London the streets 
were thronged with people, who had crowded forth 
to see the spectacle of a king led captive by his 
nobles. The duke, mounted on a fiery steed which 
seemed to know its aspiring rider, kept on his course 
with a slow and stately pace, while all tongues cried, 
* ' God save thee, Bolingbroke !' ' So many were the 
greedy looks of young and old darting through 
the casements upon the great duke's visage, that 
the very windows seemed to speak. It was indeed 
as if all the walls had said, with painted imagery, 
" J esu preserve thee! Welcome!" while he, turn- 
ing from one side to the other, with his bare head 
bent lower than his proud steed's neck, answered 
at every step, "I thank you, countrymen." The 
poor king rode after Bolingbroke as one who 
comes upon the stage when a famous actor has 
left it. The populace scowled upon him and gave 
him not a single welcome home, but threw dust 
upon his sacred head instead, which he shook off 
with a gentle sorrow, his face changing all the 
while from tears to smiles. God seemed to have 
steeled the hearts of men for some strong purpose 
or they must perforce have melted at the sight. 

When all this was over, and the king well 
secured in prison by Bolingbroke, the latter made 
haste to appear in Westminster Hall before the 
Parliament, where presently arrived the Duke of 



KING RICHARD II. Ill 

York to meet him. The duke brought the news 
that King Richard's willing soul adopted Boling- 
broke as heir to the throne, and that he yielded 
up his sceptre to the possession of his cousin's 
royal hand. * ' Ascend his throne, descending now 
from him," said the old duke; then, in a loud 
voice, he cried, " Long live Henry the Fourth!" 

Bolingbroke said he would ascend the throne in 
God's name; but the Bishop of Carlisle put forth 
a plea against it: ''What subject can give sen- 
tence upon his king ? and who sits here that is not 
Richard's subject?" The nobles were amazed at 
the Bishop's audacity, but he continued: ' ' Shall the 
figure of God's majesty, anointed and crowned, be 
judged and himself not present ?" Then the bold 
prelate called Bolingbroke traitor to his king, and 
prophesied wars and disorders in the state should he 
be crowned in Richard's stead. Such free speech 
as this could not go long unpunished, for all men's 
hearts were not yet fully affected to Bolingbroke, 
and might still be won over to their rightful ruler. 
The bishop was therefore arrested for treason; and, 
in order to give a semblance of legality to his 
usurpation, Bolingbroke ordered that King Richard 
be brought thither that he might himself surrender 
up his crown in the presence of the parliament. 

King Richard came in anon, followed by officers 
bearing the crown. He asked why he had thus 
been sent for before he had shaken oif the regal 
thoughts with which he reigned. He had not yet 
learnt, he said, to insinuate, flatter, and bend the 



Xia TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

knee, and, with a voice unused to pleading, he 
prayed Bolingbroke to give sorrow leave to tutor 
him to proper submission. Then he turned to his 
sometime courtiers who stood about him and sadly- 
said he well remembered them. ' ' Were they not 
mine? did they not cry, All hail! to me?" It was 
a pitiful and a shameful sight thus to see a great 
king deserted in his time of necessity by those 
who had lived upon his bounty; but it is the sad 
fate of those who reach such great places to have 
few real friends, for the hearts of men are little 
steadfast, and will turn remorselessly away from a 
fallen ruler. At last the king desired to know 
what service he had been summoned thither upon; 
and the Duke of York told him it was to do that 
which he had offered of his own good will, — namely, 
to resign his state and crown to Henry Boling- 
broke. ** Give me the crown," said Richard; and, 
taking it in his hands, he asked Bolingbroke to 
seize it on the other side. When he had done so, 
the king pathetically said that the crown was like 
a deep well with two buckets filling one another. 
His was now the downward bucket, while Boling- 
broke' s was in the ascendant. * * I thought you 
had been willing to resign," said Bolingbroke, for 
he grew impatient at the king' s prolonged sorrow. 
Richard, as he said, was willing to give up his 
crown, but his griefs were his own, which Boling- 
broke might not depose; he was still king of them. 
''You give me part of your cares," said Boling- 
broke; but the king's woeful answer was, "Your 



KING RICHARD II. II3 

cares set up do not pluck mine down;" and speak- 
ing thus in everything like a royal king who still 
had a right to human griefs, Richard was more 
noble in his downfall than in his glory. He gave, 
he said, the heavy weight from his head, mean- 
ing his crown, his unwieldy sceptre from his 
hand, the pride of kingly sway from his heart; he 
washed away his balm with his own tears, gave his 
crown up with his own hands, with his own tongue 
denied his sacred state, and with his own breath 
released all duteous oaths; then finally he cried to 
Bolingbroke, in the bitterness of his despair, * ' Long 
may you live to sit in Richard's seat, and soon may 
Richard lie in an earthy pit. ' ' 

Northumberland now handed the fallen king 
a paper which contained a confession of crimes 
against the state alleged to have been committed 
by himself and his followers, and the grim earl 
said that, by thus confessing, the souls of all men 
might know that he was worthily deposed. 

'' Must I do so?" asked Richard; then, turning 
to the earl, with veiled reproach, he said, ' ' Gentle 
Northumberland, if your offences were upon record, 
would it not shame you to read them before so fair 
a troop ? But if you should, you would find there 
one heinous article containing the deposing of a 
king and the breaking of an oath, marked with a 
blot in the book of heaven. Nay, all of you," he 
said, gazing around upon his accusers, ' * you who 
watch me while my wretchedness baits myself, 
though some of you wash your hands as Pilate 
III. — h 10* 



114 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

did, showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates 
have here delivered me to my sour cross, and 
water cannot wash away your sin." The nobles 
quailed beneath his reproaches, and Northumber- 
land harshly bid him to make haste. 

"Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see," 
quoth the king; and, again chided by the earl, 
who menacingly said, ' ' My lord, ' ' he replied, with 
some of his kingly spirit, ' * No lord of thine, thou 
haughty, insulting man." But relapsing into his 
woeful state, he sighed, '*Nor no man's lord; I 
have no name, no title. Alack the heavy day, 
that I have worn so many winters out and do not 
know now what to call myself" Then he asked 
for a mirror, that he might see his face since it was 
bankrupted in majesty. Again the earl bid him 
read the paper while he waited for the glass; but 
Richard cried out so haughtily against him that 
Bolingbroke commanded Northumberland to urge 
it no more. 

When the glass was brought and put into the 
king's hands, he looked intently in it for a little 
space, then pathetically said, seeing his counte- 
nance unchanged, * ' Has sorrow struck so many 
blows upon my face and made no deeper wounds ? 
O, flattering glass, you are like my followers in 
prosperity, and do beguile me!" Then in his ex- 
cess of woe he dashed the glass upon the ground 
and broke it, the moral of which was, he said, that 
sorrow had destroyed his face. At last he asked 
his cousin Bolingbroke to grant him one boon, 



KING RICHARD II. II 5 

which was that he might go out of the sight of him 
and his nobles. Bolingbroke granted his request 
by commanding that he be conveyed to the Tower, 
and thus the once great king came to his final 
humiliation. 

When Richard was gone Bolingbroke set down 
the next Wednesday as the time for his corona- 
tion; whereupon he also retired, leaving a few of 
his followers to express in whispers their sym- 
pathy for Richard, which ripened at last into a 
plot against the new king. 

In this conspiracy the Duke of Aumerle, who 
had always been a friend of King Richard, secretly 
took part, and one day when he went into the 
palace of his father the Duke of York and found 
his mother and father conversing about the fallen 
king, the duchess asked him who were now the 
favourites at court. " Madam," he said, ** I care 
not;" and when the duke inquired if he would be 
at Oxford to take part in the coming justs and 
triumphs, he made a like indifferent answer, saying 
that he would. Then, seeing a seal that hung out 
from his bosom, the old duke asked what it was. 
His son looked pale at its discovery, and was for 
putting it out of sight; but the elder man insisted 
on seeing its writing. "My lord, 'tis nothing," 
said Aumerle; but his father answered that it was, 
then, no matter who saw it, and he reached eagerly 
forward, crying, " I will be satisfied; let me see the 
writing." Aumerle asked his pardon, and said it 
was a matter of small consequence, which for some 



Il6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

reasons he would not have seen; but the old duke 
was all the more intent on seeing it because of this, 

and quoth he, suspiciously, ' ' I fear, I fear ' ' 

' ' What should you fear ?' ' asked the duchess, 
like a true mother, taking her son's part. She said 
it was but some bond he had entered into for gay 
apparel against the triumph day. * ' Bound to 
himself? What does he with a bond?" cried the 
old duke. And again he commanded Aumerle 
to show him the writing. "I do beseech you, 
pardon me, I may not show it," said Aumerle; 
whereupon his father snatched at the cord and 
drew it from him. With one look he read its 
contents, and called out, ' ' Treason ! foul treason ! 
villain, slave!" then strode away to the door sum- 
moning his servants. *' Ho! who's within there? 
Saddle my horse. Heaven for his mercy! What 
treachery is here!" When the duchess asked 
what it was, he only cried the louder, * ' Give me 
my boots, I say; saddle my horse. Now, by 
my honour, I will accuse him of treason to the 
king." The duchess, in her rage, bid Aumerle to 
strike the servant who brought the boots, but the 
young man stood as if stunned, and did not move. 
Then the duchess turned her wrath against the 
servant, and bid him get hence and never more 
come into her sight; the duke, meanwhile, crying 
again and again: "Give me my boots," like one 
beside himself. ' ' Have we more sons ?' ' asked the 
duchess. ' ' Will you pluck my fair boy from my 
age and rob me of a happy mother's name ?" But 



KING RICHARD II. II7 

the duke was bent only upon the discovery of the 
treason against the new king, and duty made him 
sacrifice his family ties. "A dozen of them," he 
said, meaning the companions of his son and fol- 
lowers of Richard, * ' have taken oath to kill the 
king at Oxford." The duchess, with a woman's 
ready wit, said that Aumerle should not take part 
in the plot, for they could keep him at home. 
*'Away, fond woman!" said York; "were he 
twenty times my son, I would impeach him!" and 
he strode out and mounted his horse and cantered 
away with his retinue towards Windsor, where the 
king was then staying. Then the duchess turned 
to Aumerle and bid him also mount and spur post 
to the king to ask for pardon before his father had 
accused him. She would not be long behind, she 
said, and never would she rise from the ground till 
Bolingbroke had granted her son pardon. 

The king was talking with his lords about his 
own unruly son, who spent his days with loose 
companions in London, when Aumerle entered, 
crying, *' Where is the king?" He craved to 
be heard alone, and the lords withdrew. Then 
Aumerle knelt at the king's feet and besought 
him for pardon for a fault the king knew not of. 
Bolingbroke asked if it were intended or com- 
mitted, for if only the first, however grave it 
might he, he said he would pardon it to win his 
cousin's after-love. Aumerle asked leave to turn 
the key in the door, that no one might enter until 
his tale was done. The king assented ; but just 



Il8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

as the door was made fast the Duke of York 
arrived at the threshold, crying, ' ' My Hege, be- 
ware; look to yourself; you have a traitor in your 
presence." The king now thought the young 
duke meant treachery, and drawing his sword 
would have attacked him; but Aumerle bid him 
stay his hand, and assured him he had no cause 
for fear. The old duke was still clamorous at the 
door, shaking it, and threatening to break it 
down. Bolingbroke at last opened it, and York 
entered out of breath and full of fear for the king's 
life. In explanation of his sudden appearance he 
gave the king the paper he had snatched from his 
son and asked him to read it, Aumerle saying 
the while, ' ' Remember, as you read, your past 
promise. I repent. Do not read my name there. 
My heart is not confederate with my hand." His 
father roared out, "It was, villain, before your 
hand set it down;" and he explained to the king 
how he had found the paper in his son's bosom. 
Bolingbroke was dismayed at the sudden tidings 
of so dark a conspiracy against his life. * ' O 
loyal father of a treacherous son," he began; but 
he remembered his promise and was willing to 
excuse the deadly blot in the digressing son be- 
cause of the abundant goodness of the father. 

Just at this same moment the duchess arrived 
behind the closed doors, crying aloud for en- 
trance. Bolingbroke asked what suppliant this 
might be, and she replied, ' ' A woman, your aunt, 
great king; speak with me, pity me!" When the 



KING RICHARD II. II9 

duchess was admitted she straightway knelt, and 
beside her knelt Aumerle supplicating for par- 
don ; but York bent the knee opposite to them 
and prayed against their petition. ' ' Good aunt, 
stand up," said Bolingbroke; but she would not 
till pardon were granted ; and at last the king, 
won by her constancy and great love for her son, 
said, " I pardon him as Heaven shall pardon me." 
But, for the rest of the conspirators he decreed 
death, and bid his uncle help to order several 
powers to Oxford to execute his sentence. 

These things and the fears that ever beset a 
usurping king made Bolingbroke wish for the 
death of Richard ; and though he said no direct 
word, yet his courtiers and followers might easily 
see the drift of his thoughts. Some had over- 
heard him say, * ' Have I no friend who will rid 
me of this living fear?" and such a hint from royal 
lips was equal to a command. 

Sir Pierce of Exton, one of Bolingbroke' s crea- 
tures, therefore undertook to relieve his majesty 
of his enemy. King Richard had been carried to 
Pomfret Castle and was there imprisoned in the 
dungeon. One day as he paced deep in thought 
about his dark cell, the keeper who came daily 
with his food broke roughly in upon his medita- 
tions and asked him if it would please him to fall 
to upon his meal. Richard commanded him to 
taste the food first, as was his wont ; but the 
keeper said he dared not, for Sir Pierce of Ex- 
ton, who lately came from the king, had ordered 



120 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the contrary. Hereupon Richard, angered by the 
many indignities he had suffered, and divining a 
plot to poison him, fell upon the keeper and beat 
him roundly. " Help, help, help!" cried the man, 
and Sir Pierce, followed by his armed servants, 
came running in. ' ' How now ?' ' said King Rich- 
ard. * ' What means death in this rude assault ?' ' 
and snatching a weapon from one of the servants, 
he cried, ' ' Villain, your own hand yields the 
instrument of your death;" upon which he de- 
spatched him, and turned to attack another. This 
one he also killed. But he had scarcely adjusted 
his sword for a new attack, when Sir Pierce struck 
him down. "Exton," he said piteously, as his 
life ebbed away, "your fierce hand has stained 
the king's own soil with his blood; that hand shall 
burn in never-quenching fire;" and as the fallen 
king died, admiration of his valor and remorse for 
the deed touched the cruel heart of Exton so that 
he was shaken with grief ; but he took up the body 
of the dead king to bear it away to the living king 
at Windsor. 

When, in a brief time after, Sir Pierce Exton, 
followed by his servants bearing Richard's cofiin, 
came solemnly into the chamber where Boling- 
broke held court, he was confident of pleasing 
the king, however much his conscience smote him 
for his misdeed. ' ' Great king, ' ' he said, ' ' within 
this coffin I present thy buried fear ; for herein 
lies the mightiest of thy great enemies, Richard 
of Bordeaux. ' ' But Sir Pierce had not considered 



KING RICHARD II. 121 

well the difference between a wish expressed and 
a wish fulfilled; and how the wrong we desire be- 
comes odious when it covers us with suspicion. 
Bolingbroke had longed for Richard's death, but 
he wanted to appear innocent of his taking off. 
When, therefore, he heard the deed laid thus at 
his door, he was quick to tell the murderer that 
he thanked him not, and so, feigning well to be 
stricken with sorrow, he bade Sir Pierce of Exton 
to wander forth with Cain through the shade of 
night and nevermore to show his head. 

But to wash the blood from his guilty hands, 
the king vowed a voyage to the Holy Land; then, 
marching sadly among his mournful nobles, he 
followed the untimely bier of Richard to the grave. 




II 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



\ '\9iK*\— :U iT^'A'S.W \yfXK 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



WHEN King- Henry the Fourth was about to 
prepare for his crusade to the Holy Land, 
the long-cherished purpose was suddenly inter- 
rupted by the news that the noble Mortimer, Earl 
of March, had been taken by Glendower and his 
rude Welshmen, and a thousand of his people 
butchered. This news was surely enough to delay 
the king, but speedily upon it came tidings that 
young Harry Percy, called the gallant Hotspur, 
had met Archibald, the Earl of E^ouglas, in battle 
and had defeated him with a great slaughter of his 
men, capturing, at the same time, Mordake, Earl 
of Fife, eldest son of Douglas, and the Earls of 
Athol, Murray, Angus, and Monteith. 

In this victory of his subjects the king was entitled 
to share, and he claimed the noble prisoners of war 
for his own; but Hotspur, feeling a contempt for 
the king's foppish messenger, who was, he said, 
more like a waiting gentlewoman than a lord, and 
desiring to have from the king, in return for his 
prisoners, the ransom of his brother-in-law, Mor- 
timer, who was the prisoner of Glendower, evaded 

123 



124 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the king's command and did not deliver the cap- 
tured earls. This vexed the king, who sent for 
the young warrior and bade him surrender them 
without delay or suffer his displeasure. But Hot- 
spur would not do this without the promise of 
Mortimer's release. This the king refused, and 
desired never again to hear Mortimer's name, for 
he said he was a traitor who had betrayed his forces 
into Glendower's hands, for that he had married 
the Welsh leader' s daughter and had gone over to 
his side. Hotspur denied this charge with all the 
passion of his nature, and told the king that Mor- 
timer had fought long in deadly single combat 
with Glendower on the banks of the Severn before 
he had been overcome. The king said that this 
was not true, and he was angered deeply by the 
words of his subject lord, so that he dismissed Hot- 
spur and his father the Earl of Northumberland 
from his presence, as he had previously dismissed 
the Earl of Worcester, the young man's uncle; 
then, followed by his train, he went indignantly 
away. But Worcester again joined his brother 
and nephew, to whom he offered to reveal a plot 
which was aimed against the throne. The young 
Hotspur strode all the while up and down the 
chamber, venting an ungovernable fury upon the 
king, threatening vengeance for Mortimer's fate, 
and vowing again and again that he would not give 
up a single Scot if a Scot would save the king's 
soul. So much did he interrupt Worcester's secret 
deliverance that the earl was affronted and would 



KING HENRY IV. — PART I. 1 25 

have withheld it ; but Northumberland used a 
father's persuasion to quiet the furious youth, and 
the plot was finally spoken. It was thus agreed 
that Hotspur should set free all his Scottish prison- 
ers without ransom, and so win the gratitude of 
Earl Douglas, who in return should be brought to 
join with the conspirators, and with Scroop, the 
Archbishop of York, whose brother had been exe- 
cuted by the king at Bristol; and that these, in 
turn, should unite with Mortimer. Worcester then 
said he would steal on to Glendower and Lord Mor- 
timer, in Wales, where the others, with Douglas 
and their combined forces, should meet him. 

Though the king was resolved to have the pris- 
oners and to make young Hotspur respect his royal 
power, yet he could not but admire the noble 
courage and warlike skill of the young lord; and 
these qualities were all the more marked in the 
king's mind by contrast with the character of his 
own son, the Prince of Wales. This young prince 
was given over to low companions and a life of 
riot among the thieves and rascals of London. He 
was a handsome youth, fit for the offices of his 
father's court in manner and education; but report 
spake ill of his behaviour in the town, and the 
king was saddened by his evil ways. 

The constant associate of the prince was an old 
knight named Falstaff, who was fat-witted with 
drinking sack and sleeping upon benches after 
noon. He had a huge paunch and was most 
unwieldy in his gait. His speech was sprinkled 

II* 



126 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

thick with oaths and he boasted a vast courage, 
which ever failed him in time of need. 

This Sir John, with Poins, Gadshill, Peto, and 
Bardolph, gained a dangerous liveHhood by robbing 
travellers on the king's highway as they went to 
and from London. In such expeditions the prince 
was sometimes led to take part, from a love of 
adventure or because, as is the habit with young 
people who like to indulge their inclinations, he 
thought that some day he would amend his ways 
and make all right. I know you all, he would 
think to himself, and will uphold for a while the 
unyoked humour of your idleness; but when the 
time comes I will throw off such loose behaviour, 
and my reformation shall be all the more goodly 
because of my faults. But this is a dangerous argu- 
ment, for few can resist temptation at will, and evil 
doing is not so easily cast aside as the prince 
believed. 

But there was a highway robbery afoot just at 
this time, and one day Poins came into the prince's 
room in the palace, where Prince Hal sat banter- 
ing the fat old knight, to ask them to join in the 
escapade. Good-morrows passed between the gay 
comrades, and then Poins unfolded to the others 
his plans for the next morning. There were pil- 
grims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, he 
said, and traders riding to London with fat purses. 
He had provided visors, so that all might conceal 
their faces, but they could use their own horses. 
Gadshill would lie in Rochester that night ; and 



KING HENRY IV. — PART I. I27 

Prince Hal, Falstaff, and the rest should sup on 
the morrow, after the booty had been taken, in 
Eastcheap. ''If you will go," said he, ''I will 
stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, 
tarry at home and be hanged." 

Falstaff was eager for the work in a minute ; 
but Prince Hal, while he did not discountenance 
it, was more cautious. * ' Hal, wilt thou make 
one?" cried the fat knight; but the prince said, 
''What, I rob? la thief? not I, by my faith." 
The knight answered, ' ' There is neither honesty, 
manhood, nor good-fellowship in thee, nor camest 
thou of royal blood, if thou darest not stand for 
ten shillings." But Poins, who had a fine jest in 
hand, to be played by Prince Hal and himself upon 
the rest when they had taken the booty, asked 
Sir John to leave the prince and him alone, for he 
would lay down such reasons for the adventure 
that he should surely go with them. 

When Falstaff was well out of hearing, Poins 
drew the prince aside and unfolded his merry 
plans. He said he had a jest to execute that he 
could not manage alone, which was that Falstaff, 
Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill should rob the men 
that had been waylaid, but the prince and he 
would not be there when it was done; then, when 
these four had the booty. Prince Hal and he should 
in turn rob them. ' ' But how shall we part with 
them in setting forth?" asked the prince, begin- 
ning to scent the fun. Poins told him that they 
should set forth before or after the others, appoint 



128 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

them a place of meeting and fail them. The four 
would then adventure upon the exploit by them- 
selves, which they would no sooner have achieved 
than the two conspirators should set upon them. 
' ' Aye, but it is likely that they will know us by our 
horses, by our habits, and by every other appoint- 
ment," said the prince. **Tut!" answered Poins; 
* ' they shall not see our horses, our visors we will 
change after we leave them, and I have cases of 
buckram for the nonce, to mask our outward gar- 
ments. ' ' The prince said he doubted they might be 
too powerful for them; but Poins had well-consid- 
ered that, and said that, for two of them, he knew 
them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned 
back; and for the third, if he should fight longer 
than he saw reason, Poins said he would forswear 
arms. The virtue of the jest would be, said the 
merry pick-purse, the incomprehensible lies the 
fat rogue of a knight would tell when they all met 
at supper. This determined the prince, who loved 
such mad pranks beyond even reputation, and 
he told Poins he would go with him. They then 
bid each other farewell until they should meet the 
next morning at the appointed place on the road. 
All was done on the morrow as Poins had 
planned. Under cover of the dim light they re- 
moved Falstaff's horse, so that he should not 
have means for retreat, and then they drew aside 
from the rest and stood close to watch the event. 
Falstaff was furious when he discovered that his 
horse had been taken. He called out, ' ' Poins i 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I, 1 29 

Hal! a plague upon you both!" and said he would 
starve before he would rob a foot farther. He 
made such a tumult with his curses and short 
breath that the others grew alarmed, lest the 
travellers should overhear him, and Poins gave a 
low whistle of warning. This only enraged him 
the more, and the prince came forth from hiding 
and bade him lay his ear close to the ground and 
listen if he could hear the tread of travellers. 
* ' Have you any levers to lift me up again ?' ' asked 
Sir John. He threatened and cajoled and pleaded 
for his horse until presently Gadshill arrived, 
warning them to put on their visors, for there was 
money of the king's coming down the hill. The 
prince hurriedly directed that the four should 
front the carriers in the narrow lane, while he and 
Poins would walk lower, and, if the carriers es- 
caped from the first encounter they would then 
light upon them. Gadshill said there were some 
eight or ten in the party ; and Falstaff, whose 
courage was least active in time of danger, cried, 
' ' Zounds ! will they not rob us ?" " What, a 
coward. Sir John Paunch?" laughed Prince Hal, 
while Poins told the fat knight where he might 
find his horse behind the hedge, bidding him 
farewell, and urging him to stand fast. The 
prince and Poins then withdrew down the lane, 
putting on their buckram disguises as they went. 

The travellers came forward in the gray morn- 
ing light without suspecting danger, when sud- 
denly they were bidden to "Stand!" and the four 
III. — i 



130 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

thieves leaped out upon them. Falstaif, seeing 
that they made no attempt to defend themselves, 
was for striking them down without mercy. ' ' Cut 
the villains' throats," he cried; "they hate us 
youth; down with them, fleece them!" and never 
until the terror-stricken wayfarers were quite re- 
lieved of their treasure did he cease to pour upon 
them a stream of curses and evil names. When 
they had got all that was to be had, the thieves 
drove the travellers away and then came back to 
their rendezvous to make a division of the spoils. 
Sir John was outspoken in his contempt for the 
courage of the prince and Poins. ' * An they be 
not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stir- 
ring," said he, with fine bravado; but just then 
a voice cried out at his elbow, "Your money!" 
and the prince and Poins, in their buckram dis- 
guises, rushed forth upon the other four. On the 
instant all were upon their feet and Falstaff, after a 
blow or two, took to his fat legs with the rest. 
In their terror they left their booty behind them, 
and the two conspirators, taking it up, got merrily 
to horse and bore it away to London. 

In the Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap, that 
same night. Prince Hal and Poins sat idling with 
the tapster, when Falstaff and his three compan- 
ions came in, as had been appointed. 

"Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?" 
said the Prince. "A plague of all cowards," 
sullenly replied Falstaff, and he called for a cup of 
sack, which he drank off, exclaiming again and 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. I3I 

again, ' * A plague of all cowards. ' ' Then he fell 
to muttering of villains and cowards and how 
there lived not three good men unhung in Eng- 
land, and one of them was fat and was grown old. 
"How now, woolsack? What do you mutter?" 
asked the prince. But Sir John made no direct 
answer. ''A king's son," murmured he, with a 
sneer. " If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom 
with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects 
before thee like a flock of geese, I'll never wear 
hair on my face more. Vou Prince of Wales!" 
The Prince greeted this sally with a great oath, and 
wanted to know what was the matter. ' ' Are you 
not a coward? answer me that; and Poins there?" 
asked the disgusted knight. The prince said if 
Sir John called him a coward he would stab him; 
but the knight, with careless bravado, ordered more 
sack, still muttering, ' ' A plague of all cowards. ' ' 
At last, pressed by Prince Hal, he told what was the 
matter, which was that he and his three compan- 
ions had taken a thousand pounds that morning. 
"Where is it, Jack ? Where is it ?" eagerly asked 
Prince Hal. "Taken from us," said the knight. 
Then he told how a hundred had fallen upon the 
four; how he himself was at half-sword with a dozen 
of them two hours together; how he had escaped by 
a miracle, and was eight times thrust through the 
doublet, four through the hose, his buckler was 
cut through and through, and his sword hacked 
like a hand-saw. He ended with his denunciation 
of all cowards, and called upon Gadshill and the 



132 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

rest to bear witness that he spoke the truth. With 
much questioning they told the story anew. The 
four had set upon a dozen, Sir John said siX" 
teen at least, and bound them, and, as they were 
sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon them 
and unbound the travellers they had robbed, who 
also attacked them. The prince feigned surprise, 
and asked if they had fought with them all. ' 'All ?' ' 
said Sir John. *' I know not what you call all; but 
if I fought not with fifty of them I am a bunch of 
radish." The prince said he prayed Heaven the 
knight had not murdered some of them; but Fal- 
staff replied that that was past praying for; he had 
peppered two of them, he was sure: two rogues in 
buckram suits. " Hal," quoth he, " if I tell thee 
a lie, call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward; 
here I lay, and thus I bore my point," and he went 
through the movements with his sword. ' ' Four 
rogues in buckram let drive at me." The prince 
interrupted him. "What, four?" he asked; ** you 
said but two, even now. " " Four, Hal ; I told 
thee four, ' ' insisted the knight ; and Poins, to 
prolong the fun, supported him; upon which he 
ran on to seven, and nine, and eleven, until he 
told how three knaves in Kendal green came at 
his back in the darkness and let drive at him, 
''for it was so dark, Hal," said he, ''that you 
could not see your hand. ' ' This was a point too 
much for the prince. "These lies," he said, 
*' are like the father that begets them, gross, open, 
palpable ;* ' and he told the knight to breathe 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 1 33 

awhile, and hear him speak. Then, with a great 
effort to be grave; he repeated the true story of the 
morning's adventure, whereupon Sir John, in his 
most shameless mood, swore that from the first he 
knew those who had attacked him as well as he 
who made them. "And was it for me," he asked, 
* ' to kill the heir apparent ? Should I turn upon 
the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as 
valiant as Hercules, but beware instinct; the lion 
will not touch the true prince." Thus amid the 
laughter of his boon fellows this ' * greasy tallow- 
ketch," as the prince called him, masked his cow- 
ardice, and made ready for a night's carouse. 

But just at this moment the hostess of the Boar's 
Head came in and announced that there was a 
nobleman of the court at the door, who would speak 
with Prince Henry, saying he came from his father, 
the king. The prince told her to give him as 
much as would make him a royal man and send him 
back to his mother. Falstaff, learning that he was 
an old man, asked what did such gravity out of its 
bed at midnight! and with the prince's consent 
betook himself below to give the messenger an 
answer. While he was gone Peto and Bardolph 
told how the fat rogue had hacked his sword with 
his dagger, and persuaded them to make their 
noses bleed by tickling them with spear-grass, that 
they might stain their garments and swear it was 
the blood of true men. 

Presently Sir John came panting back full of 
news learned from the king's messenger, Sir John 

12 



134 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Bracy. ** You must to the court in the morning,'* 
he said to the prince, and, half out of breath, told 
that the mad fellow of the North, Percy ; and 
Glendower ; with his son-in-law Mortimer ; old 
Northumberland, and the sprightly Scot, Douglas; 
Mordake, and Worcester were risen in revolt, and 
that the king's beard, so he said, was turned white 
with the tidings. 

But even this ill news could not dull the spirits 
of these gay companions, and they fell to playing 
in mockery the scene between Prince Hal and his 
father when they should meet on the morrow. 
Falstafif and the prince represented the king by 
turns, while the others sat by hugely enjoying the 
sport. 

In the midst of the carouse, Bardolph, followed 
by the hostess, broke in crying that the sheriff 
with a most monstrous watch was at the door. 
Prince Hal bid Falstaff to hide himself behind the 
arras, while the rest, he said, should walk above. 
Then, with only Poins by his side, he made ready 
to receive the officers of the law. ' * Now, master 
sheriff, what is your will with me?" he asked, as 
the sheriff entered. The answer was that a hue 
and cry had followed certain men to that house, 
one of them a gross fat man. The prince said he 
was not there, for he himself had at that time 
employed him; but he gave his princely word that 
he would send him to answer the charges made 
against him by to-morrow dinner-time. With this 
assurance the sheriff went out, and when Falstaff 



KING HENRY IV. — PART I. I35 

was called forth from behind the arras he was 
found fast asleep and snorting- like a horse. 
' ' Search his pockets, ' ' said the prince, and, as 
he expected, good sport lay there. Nothing was 
found save papers, but one of them was a bill for 
a capon, sauce, two gallons of sack, anchovies 
and sack after supper, and a halfpenny-worth of 
bread. '*0 monstrous!" roared the prince; *'but 
one halfpenny-worth of bread to this intolerable 
deal of sack!" Then he directed that the knight 
should be allowed to sleep where he was till day; 
but in the morning, as he said, he would go to 
the court, and he would procure the fat rogue a 
charge of foot, for they must all to the wars. The 
money they had taken he said should be paid 
back with advantage, and he left them with an 
injunction that they should meet him betimes on 
the morrow. 

When Prince Henry came into the king's pres- 
ence in the palace the next day, his father met 
him with words of bitter reproach for the shame 
and sorrow he had brought upon the royal house. 
The prince knew within himself how deep were 
his offences, and how well-merited were the up- 
braidings of his father ; but he had resolved to 
throw off his evil ways and to assert the noble 
traits which had always slumbered within him, so 
that he bore the king's censure with a manly 
humility, promising amendment and to be more 
himself thereafter. He vowed to redeem his faults 
on Percy's head, and in the closing of some glori- 



136 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

ous day be bold to tell the king, I am your son; 
for the time would come when he would make 
that northern youth exchange his famous deeds 
for his indignities. '*I do beseech your majesty 
may salve the long-grown wounds of my intem- 
perance,'* he pleaded; and the king was pleased 
in his heart to find his wayward son of other 
metal than he had feared. 

As they spoke thus together, Sir Walter Blunt 
came in with the news that Douglas and the Eng- 
lish rebels had met at Shrewsbury, and were a 
mighty and fearful army as ever offered foul play 
in a state. The king had already heard of this 
and had sent forward the Earl of Westmoreland, 
with his own son John, Duke of Lancaster. ' ' On 
Wednesday next," he said to Prince Henry, "you, 
Harry, shall set forward ; on Thursday, we our- 
selves will march ; our meeting-place shall be 
Bridgnorth. ' ' And having thus laid his plans, the 
king dismissed the prince and Blunt and him- 
self went to prepare for the coming march to the 
north. 

In the mean time a part of the nobles who were 
in revolt had, as Blunt reported, encamped with 
their forces near Shrewsbury; but news came to 
Hotspur that his father, the Earl of Northumber- 
land, was sick and unable to keep his engagement 
to meet them with his forces. The impetuous 
Percy was indignant at his father for thus dis- 
concerting his plans, and broke into a storm of 
temper, while Worcester, more poHtic, said that 



KING HENRY IV. — PART I. 1 37 

the quality of the attempt they were engaged in 
brooked no division, and he greatly feared that the 
earl's absence would be thought to show his dis- 
like of their proceedings, thus turning the tide of 
fearful faction away from them, and breeding a 
question of their cause. But Hotspur could little 
tolerate the wise balancing of diplomacy, and his 
mind, which changed in a flash, now altered to the 
belief that his father's absence might lend a lustre 
and a larger daring to their enterprise, for men 
must think that if they could make a bold stand 
against the king without Northumberland, with 
him they might overturn the throne. 

As Hotspur gave forth these bold sentiments, 
his cousin. Sir Richard Vernon, arrived with tidings 
of the march thitherward of all the king's forces. 
Hotspur inquired where were the nimble-footed 
madcap the Prince of Wales and his comrades 
that dafled the world aside and bid it pass. ' ' All 
furnished, all in arms," answered Vernon. ' ' I saw 
young Harry with his beaver on, his cuisses on 
his thighs, gallantly armed, rise from the ground 
like feathered Mercury and vault with such ease 
into his seat as if an angel had dropped down 
from the clouds to turn and wind a fiery Pegasus 
and witch the world with noble horsemanship." 
Such praise as this of one he deemed his rival 
had an unwelcome sound in Percy's ears. He 
uttered some daring words, then called for his 
horse, which was to bear him, he said, like a 
thunderbolt against the bosom of the Prince of 

12* 



138 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Wales. ' ' Harry to Harry shall meet and never 
part till one drops down a corse." But Vernon 
brought other news which was not so inspiring. 
Worcester, he said, could not gather his forces 
these fourteen days; and though this to Hotspur 
had a frosty sound, yet his stout heart ever grew 
bolder under adversities, and he vowed he could 
win the day without any of his backward allies. 

The king had been swift in his equipment, and 
was soon on the road to Shrewsbury, whither in a 
few days he arrived, and encamped at nightfall. 
Percy and Douglas were eager for the battle, and 
would have made an attack the very night of his 
arrival, but the wiser counsels of Worcester and 
of Vernon were against so rash a measure. Hence 
arose a debate in the rebel camp that was like to 
have broken forth into violent discord, when a 
parley sounded and Sir Walter Blunt presented 
himself, saying he came a messenger with gracious 
offers from King Henry if they would vouchsafe 
him hearing and respect. Hotspur, who was fond 
of all who possessed strength and prowess, gave 
the knight a hearty welcome. ** Would to God," 
he said, " you were of our determination, for some 
of us love you well." But Sir Walter was loyal 
to his king and hoped Heaven might keep him 
always against rebellion. He said King Henry 
desired to know the nature of their griefs, and 
why they broke the civil peace with such bold 
hostility; for if his majesty had in any way forgot 
their deserts he would with all speed grant their 



KING HENRY IV. — PART I. 1 39 

desires, and pardon them and all others whom they 
had misled into revolt. 

Hotspur's family had, however, suffered too 
much ingratitude at the hands of King Henry to 
put faith in his offers of reconciliation now that 
they stood in open warfare against him. When the 
king had landed in England from exile, and affected 
only to desire a restoration of his rights and pos- 
sessions as Duke of Lancaster, they had rallied to 
his aid and had helped to bring King Richard to 
acknowledge his claims; and now, when through 
their support this BoHngbroke had come to be 
king, he had forgot his benefactors ; had suffered 
their kinsman March, who in very deed was King 
Richard's rightful heir, to be imprisoned without 
ransom in Wales; had disgraced Hotspur in his 
happy victories; rated his uncle from the council- 
board ; dismissed his father from court ; broken 
oath on oath and committed wrong on wrong. 
Thus the young Percy stormed, and Blunt asked, 
* ' Shall I return this answer to the king ?' ' but 
Hotspur said no, for he and his commanders would 
withdraw a while for counsel, and Sir Walter 
should go back, and in the morning his uncle 
Worcester should take a reply to the king. Then 
Hotspur bade Sir Walter farewell, and they parted 
for the night. 

On the morrow Worcester presented himself in 
the royal camp, where again King Henry made 
offer of pardon and grace; but if Hotspur would 
not yield he threatened rebuke and dread correc- 



I4O TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

tion, whereupon he dismissed the earl from his 
presence and would not hear a reply. But Wor- 
cester feared that if his cousin Percy should accept 
the king's terms and make peace, there would be 
great danger to his house, for it was not possible, 
he thought, that King Henry should keep his 
word of loving them. He broached these sus- 
picions to Sir Richard Vernon, who accompanied 
him, and said his nephew must not know of the 
liberal offer of the king, for if he accepted it they 
would all be undone. When, therefore, they came 
up with Hotspur, his uncle told him that the king 
would bid him battle without delay, and the young 
warrior, rejoicing at the news, bid Douglas release 
the hostage and send by him a defiance to the king. 
While the brave Scot was gone on this errand, 
Hotspur questioned his uncle more closely, but 
Worcester concealed the king's intentions and 
made him appear to seek their destruction. 

Presently Douglas came back, crying, ''Arm, 
gentlemen; to arms! I have thrown a brave defi- 
ance in King Henry's teeth;" whereupon the rebel 
chiefs began to look to their weapons and to gather 
their forces for the approaching battle. 

Among the captains of the king's army was Sir 
John Falstaff, who had for lieutenant Peto. His 
company was made up of the refuse of the town, 
and he hoped he might be a soused gurnet if 
he were not ashamed of his soldiers. '*I have 
misused the king' s press wantonly, ' ' said he. ' ' I 
have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty 



KING HENRY IV. — PART I. I41 

soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press 
me none but good householders, yeomen's sons; 
inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as 
had been asked twice on the bans: such a com- 
modity of warm slaves as had as lief hear the old 
boy as a drum. I pressed me none but such 
toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no 
bigger than pin's heads, and they have bought 
out their services, and now my whole charge con- 
sists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen 
of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the 
painted cloth, where the glutton dogs kissed his 
sores; and such as, indeed, were never soldiers, but 
discarded unjust serving men, younger sons to 
younger sons, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade- 
fallen : the cankers of a calm world and a long peace. 
A mad fellow met me on the way and told me I 
had unloaded all the gibbets and pressed the dead 
bodies into service. No eye hath seen such scare- 
crows. ' ' Thus he ambled on in his ponderous and 
half-drunken voice, for he had spent the proceeds 
of his dishonesty in sack, and when the supply ran 
low sent Bardolph on to the next town for more; 
and he vowed he would not march through Cov- 
entry with his ragged command to be disgraced 
by them, for there was but a shirt and a half in all 
the company, and the half was two napkins tacked 
together and thrown over the shoulders like a 
herald' s coat without sleeves ; and the shirt was 
stolen from my host of Saint Albans or the red- 
nosed inn-keeper of Daventry. 



142 talp:s from shakspeare. 

As Falstaff and his beggarly troops approached 
Coventry, Prince Henry overtook them, crying, 
* * How now, blown Jack, how now ?' ' and he bid 
Sir John to make haste, for Percy was already in 
the field. As well as he might, with such a rascally 
following, the fat knight made his way to Shrews- 
bury, and led his ragamuffins into the fight, where 
they were peppered until there were not three of 
the hundred and fifty alive. The knight himself, 
by reason of a prudent expenditure of courage, 
went unhurt, but he was mortally afraid of the 
shot, and crept out of its reach whenever he could 
decently do so. Thus prowling about the field, 
he found the body of Sir Walter Blunt, who had 
fallen in combat with Douglas, the Scot taking him 
to be the king himself, because he wore a suit 
of armour like Henry's own, which several other 
knights had also done to protect the king against 
those who should aim especially at his life. 

As Falstaff ruminated over the body of the 
dead warrior. Prince Henry came up in search of 
a sword. * ' What ?' ' he cried, ' * do you stand 
idle here when many a nobleman whose death is 
unrevenged lies stark and stiff" under the hoofs 
of vaunting enemies ?' ' Then he demanded Fal- 
staff' s sword, who asked for leave to breathe 
a while, for, he said, Turk Gregory never did 
such deeds in arms as he had done that day, for 
he had slain Percy himself * ' He is living to kill 
thee; but, prithee, lend me thy sword," answered 
the prince. Falstaff said that if Percy were in- 



KING HENRY IV. — PART I. I43 

deed alive he would keep his sword ; but he 
offered Prince Hal his pistol. ' ' What, is it in 
the case?" asked the prince, for Sir John had 
handed him a case-bottle. "Ay, Hal," he said; 
*"tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that within will sack a 
city." The prince drew out the bottle, which at 
another time he would have taken as a merry jest, 
and, frowning upon the knight, threw it at him 
and rode swiftly away to find the king. When 
he came up with him. King Henry was alarmed 
because his son was wounded and bleeding. He 
bid him withdraw from the fight, and told John, 
his brother, to go with him; but the younger son 
said he would not unless he bled too, whereupon 
the king directed Westmoreland to lead Prince 
Hal to his tent. * ' Lead me, my lord ?' ' proudly 
said the prince. ' ' I do not need your help. 
Heaven forbid a shallow scratch should drive the 
Prince of Wales from such a field as this!" 

As they stood thus in colloquy the Douglas 
approached, and, seeing this time the real king 
and supposing him to be another knight in dis- 
guise, he said, " What art thou that counterfeit' st 
the person of a king ?' ' 

' ' The king himself, ' ' answered King Henry, 
and he fixed his weapon for the attack, bidding 
Douglas to defend himself The Scot still doubted 
the king's identity, but he acknowledged that the 
knight bore himself like a king; whereupon they 
met hand to hand, and presently the king was like to 
have been wounded; but Prince Henr}^, who stood 



144 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

watchfully by, saw his father's danger, and, in 
spite of his own wounds, took the fight upon him- 
self. So bravely and so mightily did he oppose 
the Douglas, that in a brief space he put him to 
flight. Then he turned to his father, saying, 
* ' Cheerily, my lord; how fares your grace ?' ' The 
king was unharmed; but was touched deeply by 
his son' s devotion and prowess. * ' You have re- 
deemed your lost opinion and shown that you 
value my life," he said. Prince Henry replied 
that they did him too much injury that ever said 
he desired the king's death; and thus by courage 
and devotion the wayward son atoned for a mis- 
spent youth. 

The king parted from him now, for it became 
necessary to look to his forces ; and just at the 
self-same moment Hotspur rode up in search of 
the Prince of Wales. *'If I mistake not," he 
said, ' * thou art Harry Monmouth ?' ' And when 
Prince Henry acknowledged that he was. Hotspur 
proudly told him that he was Harry Percy. The 
prince called him a valiant rebel, and said that one 
England could not brook a double reign of two 
such warriors. "Nor shall it," said Hotspur, 
"for the hour is come to end the one of us!" 
With this they fell to combat, and just as the 
fight began Falstaff came up panting forth en- 
couragement for the prince ; but hot in pursuit 
was Douglas, who at once engaged the terrified 
knight, giving him not even time enough to run 
away. With his usual prudence in face of danger, 



KING HENRY IV. — PART I. I45 

Sir John fell down after a pass or two, and pre- 
tended to be dead; and beside him presently fell 
Hotspur, mortally wounded by the prince. With 
great-hearted words of courage and regret the 
young Percy expired, while Prince Henry bent 
over him proud of his victory but sad for the deed 
which had deprived the earth of so valiant a gen- 
tleman, whose body, he said, had contained a 
spirit which found a kingdom too small a bound. 

As he ruminated thus, Prince Hal's eye fell upon 
the form of Falstaff, lying near by, and he was 
much moved to see his old acquaintance stretched 
out in death. ''Poor Jack, farewell!" he said. 
* ' I could have better spared a better man. ' ' Then, 
as the battle still raged, the prince could not stay 
to mourn, but hastened away; and as soon as he 
was well out of sight and hearing, Sir John got 
slowly upon his fat legs, muttering curses upon 
Earl Douglas and excuses for his own cowardice. 
He believed, he said, that the better part of valour 
is discretion, and as he feared this Hotspur who 
lay at his feet might be counterfeiting like himself, 
he stabbed him to make sure of his death. Then 
he lifted the body on his back and stumbled off 
under the great load. 

Presently he came up with Prince Henry and 
his brother Prince John. ' ' Did you not tell me 
this fat man was dead?" asked John; and Prince 
Hal answered that he had seen him dead, breath- 
less and bleeding on the ground; then, addressing 
Falstaff as a spectre, he said, ' * Art thou alive ? or 
111. — G Jk 13 



146 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

is it phantasy that plays upon our eyesight?" 
**If I be not Jack Falstaff," answered the un- 
mistakable voice, ''then I am a Jack;" where- 
upon he threw down the body of Hotspur, saying, 
** There is Percy: if your father will do me any 
honour, so ; if not, let him kill the next Percy 
himself." He looked, he said, to be either earl 
or duke for his deed of prowess; and in all things 
took to himself the honour of having slain the 
leader of the rebels. ' ' Why, Percy I killed my- 
self and saw thee dead," said the prince; but even 
this did not disconcert Sir John. *' Didst thou ?" 
he asked. ' ' Lord, lord, how the world is given to 
lying. I grant I was down and out of breath, and 
so was he ; but we rose both at an instant and 
fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. I'll take 
it upon my oath I gave him this wound in the 
thigh. If the man were alive and would deny it, 
I would make him eat a piece of my sword." 

But the prince awoke at last to the humour of 
the thing, and told the knight to come along and 
bring his luggage nobly on his back. As Sir 
John again shouldered the Percy's body, a retreat 
sounded, and the two princes hurried away to see 
what friends were living and dead. Falstaff plod- 
ded on, muttering that he meant to have reward, 
and that then he would grow great and grow 
less, for he would purge and leave sack and live 
cleanly as a nobleman should do. 

The king's forces had won the day, and among 



KING HENRY IV. — PART I. I47 

his prisoners were Earl Worcester and Sir Richard 
Vernon, whom he ordered at once to be put to 
death. Lord Douglas, when he saw the fortunes 
of the day quite turned from him, fled with his 
forces, and falling, was so bruised that the pur- 
suers captured him. Prince Henry had placed 
him in his tent, and now prayed the king that he 
might dispose of him; and when the king granted 
his request, the noble prince gave Douglas his 
freedom without ransom, for, as he said, the Scot's 
valour, shown upon their crests that day, had 
taught him how to cherish such high deeds. 

The king then divided his forces, Prince John 
and Westmoreland going towards York against the 
Earl of Northumberland and Archbishop Scroop, 
while himself and Prince Henry went towards 
Wales to fight with Glendower and the Earl of 
March ; and thus ended the well-fought day of 
Shrewsbury, and with it the life of the noble but 
too impetuous Hotspur. 




KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



WHEN the news of King Henry's victory- 
over Hotspur and his allies at Shrewsbury 
reached the ears of the Earl of Northumberland, 
the aged nobleman was overcome by grief to 
hear of the death of his valorous son ; but he was 
alarmed, as well, for his own safety. For with the 
tidings of the ruin of his son's cause came'a warn- 
ing that the king's forces were marching upon him 
and upon Archbishop Scroop of York, because 
they had been secretly engaged to help the younger 
Percy in his venture against the crown. In the 
midst of his sorrows, therefore, the old earl was 
compelled to prepare for battle with the royal army, 
and this he set about with all haste. But, as he 
was on the point of starting out to join the arch- 
bishop, his wife and his daughter-in-law, the widow 
of Hotspur, pleaded with him to seek safety in flight, 
and rather to dissemble with his fellow-plotters as 
he had found it in his heart to do with his own son, 
than to venture upon open hostility with the king. 
This the earl finally decided to do, and he departed 

13* 149 



150 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

for Scotland, there to abide until better days should 
permit him to return in peace. 

In the mean time the Archbishop of York had 
also heard of the king' s victory at Shrewsbury, and 
had called upon his allies to join him in his cause 
against the royal powers. In a room of his palace 
he met Lord Hastings, Lord Bardolph, Lord 
Mowbray, and other enemies of the king, and coun- 
selled with them how best to encounter the victorious 
forces of Prince John and the Earl of Westmoreland 
which were marching rapidly against them. The 
muster of the rebels amounted to five-and-twenty 
thousand men of choice; but their supplies lived 
largely in the hope of great Northumberland, whose 
bosom, said Lord Hastings, burned with an in- 
censed fire of injuries. Lord Bardolph questioned 
whethef their present forces might hold up head 
without the earl, and his judgment was that they 
should not step too far till they had Northumber- 
land's assistance by the hand, else, he said, they 
would be like one who draws the model of a house 
beyond his power to build it, and who, when half 
through, gives over the work and leaves it a naked 
subject to the weeping clouds and waste for churlish 
winter's tyranny. But Lord Hastings was more 
of the temper of Hotspur, and was for proceeding 
without the tardy earl; for, said he, the unfirm 
king has divided his force in three heads: one 
against the French, one against Glendower, and 
the third must take up us, and thus divided we may 
hope to defeat him. The archbishop, who was 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 151 

also anxious for the attack because the king had ex- 
ecuted his brother, supported the opinion of Lord 
Hastings and said there was Httle danger that King 
Henry should draw his several strengths together 
and come against them in his full power. * ' Let us 
on," he urged. "The commonwealth is sick of its 
choice of Bolingbroke for king, for a giddy and 
unsure foundation is his who builds upon the vul- 
gar heart." Then he broke forth in a lament 
upon the unstable times which had desired King 
Richard's death but were now enamoured of his 
grave; and in such a strain he won his allies to take 
up the fight against Prince John's approaching 
forces without the aid of Northumberland. 

While this was taking place in the north, the 
king and the Prince of Wales had returned to 
London with their followers, among whom was Sir 
John Falstaff, now more than ever given over to 
boastful ness and brawling because of his deeds in 
the battle of Shrewsbury. The king was sick; but 
the prince longed again for his old boon compan- 
ions of Eastcheap, and he confessed to Poins that 
though it showed vilely in him yet, in truth, he de- 
sired small beer. " How ill it follows," said Poins, 
' ' after you have laboured so hard you should talk 
so idly. Tell me, how many good young princes 
would do so, their fathers lying so sick as yours 
is ?' ' The prince confessed that he could weep for 
his father, that his heart bled inwardly for him, 
but that if he gave way to his sadness he would 
only be misunderstood and called hypocrite; and 



152 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

he put on his gay humour more to disguise his 
sorrow than to indulge his fancy. 

As they spoke together thus in London streets, 
Bardolph and Sir John's page came up, and they 
learned from them of the old knight's doings. He 
supped, said they, at the accustomed place in East- 
cheap and in the old vagabond company. ' ' Sup 
any women with him?" asked Prince Hal; and the 
page answered, "None but old Mistress Quickly 
and Mistress Doll Tear-sheet." Then, in his love 
for such free sport, the prince proposed that Poins 
and he should steal upon them at supper. They 
vowed Bardolph to secrecy and the prince gave 
the knavish boy a crown for his silence; and, part- 
ing from them, they considered how they might 
see Falstaff bestow himself that night in his true 
colours, and not themselves be seen. ' * Put on 
two leather jerkins and aprons and wait upon him 
at his table as drawers," suggested Poins. This 
pleased Prince Hal's mad humour, and he said, 
though he descended from a prince to a peasant, 
the transformation should be made, for in every- 
thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. 

In the Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap that 
same night Sir John took his ease with the hostess 
and Mistress Doll Tear-sheet, and as they came in 
from the room where they had supped, the drawer 
told the knight that Pistol was below and would 
speak with him. Mistress Tear-sheet bid them let 
him not come thither, for he was the foul-mouth' dst 
rogue in England and a swaggering rascal; upon 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 1 53 

which Mistress Quickly also objected, for she said 
she could have no swaggerers there, and she ordered 
the drawers to shut the door. Falstaff said, ' ' Dost 
thou hear, hostess? it is mine ancient;" but she 
would not listen to him, and continued to rail 
against all swaggerers. ^'He's no swaggerer, 
hostess; a tame cheater, he; you may stroke him 
as gently as a puppy greyhound : he will not 
swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn 
back in any show of resistance, " quoth the knight; 
whereupon Mistress Quickly was instantly molli- 
fied, for she said she would bar no honest man nor 
cheater from her house; but she could not abide a 
swaggerer. 

Pistol was now allowed to come up, and, ** Save 
you, Sir John," said he as he entered; but instantly 
he fell into hard words with Mistress Doll which 
anon became so high that Bardolph and the old 
knight himself were powerless to keep peace be- 
tween them. "Thrust him down-stairs; I cannot 
endure such a fustian rascal," cried Doll, and all 
together tried to put him out of the room; but he 
drew his sword upon Bardolph, and would have 
wounded him had not Sir John drawn and crossed 
blades with him and driven him away. The knight 
came puffing back like a great hero and was caressed 
by both the women for his bravery. ' ' A rascal ! to 
brave me," he said, looking fiercely around him; 
while Mistress Doll called him endearingly her 
sweet little rogue, and wiped his sweating face. 
* * Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth 



154 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the 
nine worthies," said she; but Sir John could only- 
mutter, ' ' A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue 
in a blanket!" 

At this moment the music came in and Falstaff 
bid them play, while Doll sat on his knee and 
he still cursed Pistol for a bragging slave. ' ' The 
rogue fled from me like quicksilver, ' ' quoth he ; 
and Doll said Sir John followed him like a church. 
"When wilt thou leave off fighting and dram- 
drinking and begin to patch up thine old body for 
heaven?" she asked. He bid her keep peace and 
not speak like a death's head; and at this same 
time Prince Hal and Poins, disguised like drawers, 
came in to spy upon their doings. "Sirrah," 
asked Doll, "what humour is the prince of?" 
Falstaff protested he was a good, shallow young 
fellow who would have made a good pantler, or 
would have chipped bread well. ' ' They say Poins 
hath a good wit," quoth she; but Falstaff was in 
no humour to allow as much. ' ' He a good wit ? 
hang him, baboon!" he muttered, "his wit is as 
thick as Tewksbury mustard ; there is no more 
conceit in him than in a mallet. ' ' Doll asked why, 
then, the prince loved him so; and the jealous old 
knight said it was because their legs were both of a 
bigness, and he played at quoits well, and ate con- 
ger and fennel, and jumped upon joint-stools, and 
did all the rest of the mad antics of his kind, for 
the prince himself was just such another. ' ' This 
was more than Prince Hal and Poins could bear. 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. I55 

They whispered together menacingly. "Would 
not this knave have his ears cut off?" muttered 
the prince; and Poins offered to beat him. But 
just then Falstaff, in a melting mood, said, ' ' Kiss 
me, Doll," and the eavesdroppers stayed their 
hands to watch the sport. * ' Thou wilt forget me 
when I am gone, ' ' said the knight. ' ' By my 
troth," she answered, "thou' It set me weeping if 
thou sayest so." Then Sir John called for some 
sack and Prince Henry and Poins bustled forward 
crying, "Anon, anon, sir." Falstaff discovered 
them on the instant. ' ' Ha ! a bastard son of the 
king's," he cried. " And art not thou Poins his 
brother ?' ' he asked of Poins. ' ' Why, thou globe 
of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead?" 
said the prince. Sir John told him a better than 
he, for he was a gentleman and the prince but a 
drawer. Then the old knight, who really loved 
Prince Hal, bid him a hearty welcome back to 
London; but Mistress Doll, on whom he leaned 
his fat hand as he spoke, cast it off, saying that 
she scorned him; for the truth was she had set 
her cap for his betters, and was vexed thus to be 
caught by them in the old knight's company. 
The prince accused him of speaking vilely of him; 
but Sir John, with his accustomed impudence, 
explained that he had dispraised him and Poins 
before the wicked that the wicked might not fall 
in love with them. "In which doing," he said, 
* ' I have done the part of a careful friend and a true 
subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it.** 



55^ TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

But, now there was a loud knock at the door, 
and when it was opened Peto entered breathless 
with news. He told the prince that the king had 
arrived at Westminster and that twenty weak and 
wearied posts had ridden from the north. As he 
came along he said he had met a dozen captains, 
bareheaded, sweating, knocking at the taverns and 
asking every one for Sir John Falstaff. 

The prince was abashed to hear such tidings : 
they brought him back to the realities of king- 
ship. * * By heavens, Poins, ' ' said he, ' * I feel me 
much to blame, so idly to profane the precious 
time. ' ' Then he called for his sword and cloak, 
and crying, ' ' Falstaff, good-night, ' ' hurried away, 
followed by Poins, Peto, and Bardolph. Presently 
Bardolph came back with a command for Sir John 
to repair to court directly. ' ' A dozen captains stay 
at door for you," he told the knight, and Falstaff, 
bidding his page pay the musicians, turned to bid 
farewell to Mistress Tear-sheet and the hostess. 
** You see, my good wenches, how men of merit 
are sought after, ' ' said he ; then, retiring down 
stairs, called, ''Farewell, farewell," and, with Bar- 
dolph at his heels, was gone. 

The king was bowed down with the load of his 
triple wars, and found no rest through the weary 
nights. He wandered till dawn about his palace 
invoking the gentle goddess of sleep, but she 
refused him her balm of forgetfulness. Nature's 
soft nurse, he called her, and many another fair 
name, and asked how he had frighted her that 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 1 57 

she would no more weigh down his eyelids. 
Rather, he said, she would lie in smoky cribs 
and stretch upon uneasy pallets, hushed by buzz- 
ing night-flies, than in the perfumed chambers 
of the great, under canopies of costly state and 
lulled with sounds of sweetest melody. * * Wilt 
thou," he murmured in his sore need, ^' seal up 
the ship-boy's eyes upon the high and giddy mast, 
and rock his brains in cradle of the rude imperi- 
ous surge, and in the visitation of the winds, who 
take the ruffian billows by the top, curling their 
monstrous heads and hanging them with deafen- 
ing clamours in the slippery clouds that, with the 
hurly, death itself awakes ? Canst thou, O partial 
sleep ! give thy repose to the wet sea-boy in an 
hour so rude, and in the calmest and stillest night, 
with all appliances and means to boot, deny it to 
a king ?' ' His question was answered by his own 
unrest, and he wailed aloud such a truth as we 
learn by hard experience : (* Uneasy lies the head 
that wears a crowiy'^' 

As the king, thus disturbed in mind, paced to 
and fro, there came to him the Earl of Warwick, 
for whom he had sent, bidding him good-morrow. . 
* ' Is it good-morrow ?' ' he asked. Warwick told 
him it was past one o'clock. King Henry said, 
wearily, '^Why, then good-morrow," and asked 
if his lordship had read over the letters he had sent 
him, for from them he would perceive how foul was 
the body of the kingdom, what rank diseases grew 
upon it, and what danger was near its heart. 

14 



158 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Warwick strove to soothe his sickened fancy by 
telling him how easily all might be restored with 
good advice and a little medicine; but the king was 
distraught in body and in soul, and evil imagin- 
ings blurred his vision. He recalled the love be- 
tween King Richard and Northumberland, and 
how, in two years after, they were at war; how this 
same Percy that now plotted against him was 
eight years ago the man nearest his soul. ' ' But 
you were by, cousin Nevil," he said to Warwick, 
' ' when Richard, with his eyes brimful of tears, 
being checked and rated by Northumberland, did 
speak these words, now proved a prophecy : 
' Northumberland, thou ladder by which my 
cousin Bolihgbroke ascends my throne, the time 
shall come when that foul sin, gathering head, shall 
break into corruption;' — and so he went on fore- 
telling this same time's condition, and the division 
of our amity." 

Warwick pointed out that King Richard might 
well have guessed that great Northumberland, 
being then false to him, would, of that seed, grow 
to a greater falseness. ''Are these things then 
necessities ?' ' exclaimed the king. ' ' Then let us 
meet them like necessities. They say the bishop 
and Northumberland are fifty thousand strong." 
The earl answered that it could not be, and urged 
the king to go to bed, assuring him that the 
powers he had already sent forth would bring this 
prize in very easily. To comfort him the more, 
he told him that he had received certain tidings 



KING HENRY IV.^PART II. 1 59 

that Glendower was dead. Then the king took 
his advice and retired, saying, to ease his woes, 
that if these wars were once over, he would away 
upon his crusade to the Holy Land. 

In the mean time. Sir John Falstaff had set out 
upon an errand to Lord John of Lancaster in the 
north, mustering soldiers for the king's army as 
he proceeded. When he reached Gloucestershire 
he found the justice, Shallow by name, to be an 
old friend of his school-days in London, who 
boasted that he had known the fat knight when 
he was plain Jack Falstaff, and a page to Thomas 
Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Sir John's welcome 
was a warm one, for his martial fame had preceded 
him, and Justice Shallow was proud to own so 
notable an acquaintance; but the knight was im- 
patient of such country manners as Shallow and 
his kinsman Silence greeted him with, and he 
asked abruptly if they had provided him with 
half a dozen of sufficient men ? ' ' Marry, have 
we, sir," quoth Shallow, and Sir John sat down 
on the green before the justice's house to examine 
them. The roll was brought, the names called 
one by one, and Mouldy, Shadow, Feeble, Peter 
Bull-caff, and Wart were brought up in turn. 
Four were to be chosen out of the five, but Wart, 
because, as Sir John said, his apparel was built 
upon his back and his whole frame stood upon 
pins, was rejected as soon as he appeared, while 
the others were made to await a final choice until 
Shallow and Falstaff had dined. When the jus- 



l6o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

tice and the knight had gone in to dinner, Bull- 
calf implored Bardolph to stand his good friend, 
offering him ten shillings if he would secure his 
release. Bardolph indignantly refused the bribe, 
and when Mouldy came to him with an offer of 
forty, he likewise told him to stand aside. But 
when the meal was through, Sir John came forth 
again full of Shallow's good cheer and ready to 
finish the choice. *' Come, sir," said he; ** which 
men shall I have ?' ' Bardolph drew him aside, 
whispering, ' ' I have three pound to free Mouldy 
and Bull-calf" This turned the current of the 
knight's decision, and when again Justice Shallow 
asked him which four he would have, he an- 
swered, "Do you choose for me." "Marry, 
then," said Shallow, "Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, 
and Shadow." But Sir John, with bold disre- 
gard of the king's interest, said, "For you, 
Mouldy, stay at home till you are past service; 
and for your part, Bull-calf, grow till you come 
into it; I will none of you." Shallow was as- 
tonished at the knight's choice, and he told him 
not to do himself wrong, for these two he rejected 
were his likeliest men, and he would have him 
served with the best. But with his wonted im- 
pudence, Falstaff maintained that it was not the 
limb, the thewes, the stature, bulk, and big as- 
semblance of a man he desired, but the spirit. 
"Oh, give me the spare men," quoth he, "and 
spare me the great ones. ' ' 

Thus did this jolly vagabond make a disrepu- 



KING HENRY IV.'— PART II. l6l 

table living by selling what was left of his honour 
and degrading the king's forces with beggarly 
recruits. Having spent the day with the justice, 
drunk of his cellar, and fed of his best dishes, 
Falstaff departed with his tattered followers, vow- 
ing he would be acquainted with Shallow again if 
he returned that way, and that it would go hard 
but he would snap at him. 

Sir John journeyed on to the north and joined 
the prince in time to take part in the pursuit of 
the rebel army, which fled before the king's forces 
through Yorkshire. Having been overtaken by 
the prince and the Earl of Westmoreland in a 
forest of Yorkshire, the archbishop and his allies 
consented to a parley, and finally agreed to accept 
the profler of peace made in the king's name on 
condition that all their grievances should be re- 
dressed. The conference took place in sight of 
the opposing armies, and on the instant that the 
amicable terms were settled. Lord Hastings bid 
an officer hurry away to the archbishop's forces, 
to proclaim the peace and to pay and dismiss 
them. Prince John, on his part, sent the Lord 
Westmoreland to discharge his army, and at the 
same time proposed to the archbishop that their 
respective trains should march by them, so that 
they might peruse the men they should have 
coped with. This the archbishop asked Lord 
Hastings to order, and as he went upon the er- 
rand, Westmoreland came back. ''Now, cousin,'* 
said Prince John, "wherefore stands our army 
III. — / 14* 



1 62 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

still ?' * The earl answered that the leaders, hav- 
ing charge from the prince to stand, would not 
go off until they heard him speak. ' ' They know 
their duties,'' said the dissembling prince; but 
Lord Hastings came in at this instant, announcing 
that the archbishop's army had dispersed already, 
like a school broke up, each hurrying towards his 
home and sporting-place. 

Then said Westmoreland, ' ' Good tidings, my 
Lord Hastings, for the which I do arrest thee, 
traitor, of high treason;" and in this summary 
and dishonourable manner were all the rest of the 
rebel lords attached for capital treason and hurried 
off to execution, the prince justifying his unright- 
eous device on the ground that it was practised 
against those unlawfully in arms against the king; 
but he put aside the truth that evil done to the 
evil-doer is an equal hurt to him who does it and 
to him who suffers. 

In the pursuit which followed. Sir John Falstaff 
had the good fortune, which ever seemed to follow 
his undeserving steps, to fall in with a gentleman 
of the rebel army named Sir John Colevile of the 
dale. When this brave knight knew whom he had 
encountered he was content to give himself up, 
and very bravely did Falstaff lead him his captive 
to where stood Prince John and his leaders. 
' ' Now, Falstaff, ' ' said the prince, ' ' where have you 
been all this while ? When everything is ended 
you come up." The fat knight put on a look of 
injured virtue. He said he never yet knew but 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 163 

rebuke and check were the reward of valour; for 
here, he had foundered nine-score and odd posts, 
and had come in thus travel-tainted, when, in 
his pure and immaculate valour, he had taken Sir 
John Colevile of the dale, a most furious knight 
and valorous enemy. He prayed that he might 
have right done him, and that desert should 
mount. " Thine' s too heavy to mount," laughed 
the prince; but he, as well as his brother, was fond 
of the bragging old rascal, whose falsehoods were 
too plain to do much harm to any but himself, and 
at last he bid the knight farewell, promising, when 
he reached London, to speak better of him than 
he deserved. 

The king was still weak; but with a characteristic 
energy was making plans for his crusade when the 
rebels should have come underneath the yoke of 
government. One day, as he stood among his sons 
and nobles in Westminster palace, he noticed the 
absence of Prince Henry, and asked where he was. 
Prince Humphrey answered that he thought his 
brother had gone to the hunt; but the truth was 
that Prince Hal was that day dining in Eastcheap 
with Poins and his other continual followers. 
When the king learned this it grieved him much, 
and he lamented upon the unguided days and 
rotten times his subjects should look upon when 
he was sleeping with his ancestors. ' ' For, ' ' said 
he, ' ' when his headstrong riot has no curb, when 
rage and hot blood are his counsellors, when means 
and lavish manners meet together, with what wings 



164 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

shall his affections fly towards fronting peril and 
opposed decay!" Lord Warwick tried to pacify 
the king with hopeful words, saying the prince 
but studied his companions, like a strange tongue 
wherein it is needful that the most immodest word 
be looked upon and learned; but the king said, 
sadly, '' 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her 
comb in the dead carrion." What more he would 
have said was interrupted by the arrival of West- 
moreland with news of Prince John's victory in the 
north, and this turned the king's sadness to a 
sudden cheer. "Oh, Westmoreland, thou art a 
summer bird, which ever in the haunch of winter 
sings the lifting up of day," said he; and, as 
he ceased. Lord Harcourt entered, bringing the 
tidings that Earl Northumberland and Lord Bar- 
dolph, with a great power of English and Scots, 
had been overthrown by the Sheriff of Yorkshire. 
But, as is often the case with one of unsound 
health, the great joy which the king felt upon 
hearing this good news overstrained his feeble 
spirit, and, suddenly calling for help, he fell swoon- 
ing into the arms of his sons and nobles. The 
incessant care and labour of his mind had wrought 
the walls of flesh that confined it so thin that life 
looked through. The river Thames had also, to 
the thinking of the superstitious times, given its 
warning of the king's death, for it had flowed 
thrice with no ebb between, as it had done a little 
time before King Edward, his grandsire, had sick- 
ened and died. 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 165 

But presently King Henry recovered and asked 
to be taken up and borne thence into some other 
chamber. This was softly done, and he was placed 
upon the bed, saying, as he lay at rest, * * Let there 
be no noise made, my gentle friends, unless some 
dull and favourable hand will whisper music to my 
weary spirit;" and when the music was brought as 
the king desired, with a languid motion he pointed 
to his pillow and bid them lay his crown upon it. 
His eye was hollow and he was much changed, and 
those who stood about his bed bent pitiful looks 
upon him, thus failing to see Prince Henry, who 
now entered seeking his brother the Duke of 
Clarence. * ' How now ?' ' asked the prince, as he 
beheld the weeping faces; "rain within doors and 
none abroad !" Then, seeing his father, he ques- 
tioned, with surprise, * ' How doth the king ?' ' 
" Exceeding ill," he was told; and he thought to 
restore him with the good news from the north, 
which King Henry had already heard to his cost ; 
but they warned him that his father was disposed 
to sleep, and desired him to withdraw into the 
other room, to which he answered that he would 
sit rather, and watch by the king's bedside. 

When all had retired but himself. Prince Henry 
saw that the crown lay upon his father' s pillow, and 
he wondered why, being so troublesome a bed- 
fellow, it was allowed to rest there. ' ' O polished 
perturbation ! golden care! that keep'st the ports 
of slumber open wide to many a watchful night, ' ' 
murmured the prince, touched into graver thoughts 



l66 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

by grief for his own waywardness and his father's 
threatened death ; and he continued to pour forth 
words of sadness and tenderness for his dear father, 
saying that his due from him had been tears and 
heavy sorrows of the blood which he would pay 
plenteously; but that the king's due to his son was 
this imperial crown upon the pillow, and then, 
scarcely heeding what he did, he placed the crown 
upon his brow, vowing that Heaven should guard 
it, and though the whole world's strength were 
put into one giant arm, it should not force the 
lineal honour from him. Then, with the crown 
still upon his head, he rose and went into the next 
room; but at this same moment the king awoke, 
and, finding himself deserted, called to his sons ; 
asking why they left him there alone. They hastily 
came in and told him the prince, their brother, was 
there when they withdrew; and King Henry eagerly 
asked where he was, saying he would see him at 
once. Seeing that the door was open through 
which Prince Henry had gone, they went in search 
of him; while the king discovering the absence of 
the crown, cried out that the prince had taken it 
away. ' ' Is he so hasty that he doth suppose my 
sleep a death ?' ' he asked, and fell to chiding at his 
filial ingratitude. Lord Warwick came back anon, 
saying he had found the prince in the next room 
washing his gentle cheeks with kindly tears. ' ' But 
wherefore did he take away the crown ?' ' insisted 
the king; and Prince Henry, entering now, said he 
never thought to hear his father speak again, which 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 167 

words King Henry misconceived, for he thought 
they were meant in disappointment that he Hved, 
rather than in their true sense of sorrow that he 
had been so ill. " I stay too long by thee, I weary 
thee," he said. ''Oh, foolish youth! you seek 
the greatness that will overwhelm you;" and in 
weariness of spirit he accused his son of stealing 
that which, after some few hours, would have been 
his without offence. The prince's life, he said, did 
manifest that he loved his father not, and he would 
have him die assured of it. Thus, with these hard 
words, which were only in part deserved for the 
prince' s heart was true though his loose deeds 
belied it, did the dying sovereign chide his hum- 
bled son; and he railed on, prophesying the ruin 
of all he had built with kingly policy and power 
and foretelling of the riot which, upon the acces- 
sion of the prince, would overtake and turn to a 
wilderness his poor kingdom sick with civil blows. 
At last Prince Henry, who had silently taken all 
with bowed head, knelt at his father's bedside and 
said that but for his tears, which were moist im- 
pediments unto his speech, he would have fore- 
stalled that dear and deep rebuke before it was 
spoken. Then he placed the crown again on the 
pillow and called Heaven to witness that when 
he came in and found no course of breath in his 
majesty, that his heart was struck cold, and he told 
the king how he had upbraided the crown, and, 
even while accusing it, had put it on his head to 
try with it, as with an enemy that had murdered 



1 68 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

his father, the quarrel of a true inheritor; but if in 
the least degree it did infect his blood with joy, or 
if any vain spirit of his gave entertainment to its 
might, he prayed Heaven forever to keep it from 
his head and to make him the poorest vassal that 
with awe and terror knelt to it. 

So earnest and so sincere were the prince' s words 
that King Henry believed them to be true, and he 
was rejoiced to find his son so unlike the prodigal 
he had feared him to be. He bid him come close 
and sit upon his bed to hear the very latest counsel 
that ever he should breathe. ' ' Heaven knows, ' ' 
he said, ' * by what by-paths and indirect crooked 
ways I met this crown, and I myself know how 
troublesome it sat upon my head;" yet he predicted 
that to his son it should descend with better quiet, 
for it seemed in the father an honour snatched with 
boisterous hand; but what in him was purchased, 
he said, should fall upon his son in a fairer sort. 
Then he revealed to Prince Henry that his pur- 
pose to lead out many to the Holy Land was 
planned lest lying still they might look too near 
unto his state; and he advised the young prince 
to busy giddy minds with foreign quarrels, that by 
such action he might waste the memory of the 
former days. 

But the king's voice grew faint now and he 
moaned that strength of speech was utterly denied 
him; yet he could not forbear to pray Heaven's 
forgiveness for the way in which he came by the 
crown. ' ' My gracious liege, you won it, wore it, 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 1 69 

kept it, and gave It me, and my possession must 
be plain and right," said the prince; wherefore he 
swore to maintain it against the world. 

At this moment the young princes and Lord 
Warwick came into the chamber, and the king 
turned to his lordship, asking if any particular 
name belonged to the lodging where he had first 
swooned. He was told that it was called Jerusa- 
lem; and he cried, " Laud be to Heaven, for even 
there my life must end. ' ' It had been prophesied 
to him many years, he said, that he should not die 
but in Jerusalem, and he had vainly supposed the 
prophecy to refer to the Holy Land; but now he 
bid his sons and nobles bear him into that chamber, 
for the fulfilment had come, and in that Jerusalem 
should Harry die. 

When the news went abroad that the king was 
dead much consternation was felt among lords and 
commons that the new king should be no other 
than the idle and incorrigible young prince who 
had caused his royal father so much shame. But 
above all others was the chief justice alarmed, for he 
had boldly sentenced the prince to imprisonment 
for assaulting him in his court, and he expected no 
mercy now that the protecting arm of King Henry 
was removed. The service that he truly did the 
king's life had left him open to all injuries. 

As the chief justice and Lord Warwick spoke 
together of this in the palace one day, the new 
king's three brothers approached, and his lordship 
wished with a sigh that the living Harry had the 

H IS 



170 TALES FROM SHAK3PEARE. 

temper of even the worst of these. He thought 
him to be the lawless youth he seemed, and was 
not wise enough to discover the nobler nature 
which lurked beneath the prince's assumed reck- 
lessness. The princes spoke sadly of the change 
in the chief justice's fortunes, and the Duke of 
Clarence, with a melancholy smile, bid him speak 
Sir John Falstaff, his old enemy, fair now. The 
chief justice said that what he had done he did in 
honour, led by the impartial conduct of his soul, 
and he would never beg a remission; for if truth 
and upright innocency failed him he vowed he 
would away to the king his master that was dead 
and tell him who had sent him. As he uttered 
these manly words Prince Henry, who was now 
King Henry the Fifth, came into the chamber, 
and the chief justice gave him good-morrow, say- 
ing, * ' Heaven save your majesty." The new king 
loved an honest directness of speech, and was 
out of humour with the roundabout affectations 
of the court. He answered that the new and 
gorgeous garment, majesty, sat not so easy on 
him as the chief justice thought, and, in his 
heart, knowing the feelings of distrust with which 
all those present regarded him, he said, " Brothers, 
you mix your sadness with some fear; this is the 
English, not the Turkish court. Harry succeeds 
Harry, and, by Heaven, I bid you be assured I'll 
be your brother and your father too. Let me but 
bear your love and I'll bear your cares." Still 
were they unconvinced, so sudden was the change 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 17I 

in their brother's demeanour, and he charged 
them with looking strangely on him. ' ' And you 
most," he said to the chief justice. "You are, 
I think, assured I do not love you." The judge 
replied that he was assured the king had no just 
cause to hate him. '*No!" cried King Harry. 
' ' How might a prince of my great hopes forget so 
great indignities you laid upon me? What! rate, 
rebuke, and roughly send to prison the immediate 
heir of England ? Was this easy ? May this be 
forgotten?" The justice gravely and steadfastly 
said that he then did assume the person of the 
prince's father; the image of the king's power lay 
in him, and while he was busy for the common- 
wealth in the administration of his law the prince 
pleased to forget the judge's place and struck him 
in his very seat of judgment. Whereon, as a bold 
offender to the king, he gave bold way to his 
authority and committed the prince to prison. 
*'If my deed were ill," he said, **be you con- 
tented, wearing now the garland, to have a son 
set your decrees at naught and pluck down jus- 
tice from your awful bench. Behold yourself dis- 
dained so by a son, and then imagine me taking 
your part. After this, sentence me, and as you 
are a king, speak what I have done that misbe- 
comes my place, my person, or my liege's sov- 
ereignty. ' ' The young king feigned to be softened 
by this manly appeal, but he had forgiven the 
chief justice even before he spoke, for he knew 
his great worth and needed his wisdom in his 



172 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

counsels. He said the judge was right and weighed 
the question well, and giving him his hand, he bid 
him still bear the balance and the sword, signs of 
his office, and wished his honours might increase 
till he lived to see a son of Harry offend and 
obey as he had done; for then he might live to 
speak his father' s words : ' * Happy am I that 
have a man so bold, that dares do justice on my 
proper son ; and no less happy, having such a 
son, that would deliver up his greatness so into 
the hands of justice. " Then to his brothers the 
young king said that his affections lay in his 
father's tomb, and that he sadly survived with 
his spirit to mock the expectation of the world, 
to fj-ustrate prophecies, and to raze out rotten 
opinion, which had written him down after, his 
seeming. 

The tidings of all these sudden changes found 
Sir John Falstaff tossing sack with Justice Shallow 
and his kinsman Silence, in the garden of Shal- 
low's house in Gloucestershire. As they sat 
under the orchard trees trolling catches and ram- 
bling in tipsy talk. Pistol came in unexpectedly 
with news from the court. * ' What wind blew 
you hither ?' ' asked Sir John. * * Not the ill-wind 
which blows none to good," answered the rogue; 
and without preface he said that the knight had 
become one of the greatest men in the realm ; then 
falling into his favorite rant of the actor, said, — 

"And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys. 
And golden times, and happy news of price." 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 1 73 

**I prithee now, deliver them like a man of this 
world, ' ' commanded Falstaff, and after much more 
of the same bombastic rhyming, Pistol told him 
of King Henry's death and of the ascension of 
Harry, his son, Falstaff' s friend. On the instant 
the knight was upon his feet. "Away, Bardolph; 
saddle my horse," he cried; and he told Master 
Robert Shallow to choose what office in the land 
he would, and it should be his, and Pistol, he 
said, should be double-charged with dignities for 
bringing the good tidings. He knew the young 
king was sick for him, and the laws of England 
were at his command, so that he might take any 
man's horses. ' ' Happy are they which have been 
my friends, and woe unto my lord chief justice !' ' 
were his parting words. 

On they rode to London, and arrived at last 
before Westminster Abbey on the very day of the 
coronation of King Henry the Fifth. As the pro- 
cession came forth from the abbey, Falstaff, Justice 
Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, and Sir John's page 
were foremost in the throng about the doors. 
''Stand here by me. Master Robert Shallow," 
said the knight, * ' I will make the king do you 
grace. I will leer upon him as he comes by; and 
do but mark the countenance he will give me." 
* ' Bless thy lungs, good knight, ' ' answered Shal- 
low. Sir John bid Pistol stand behind him, ex- 
claiming to Shallow, the while, ' ' Oh, if I had had 
time to have made new liveries, I would have 
bestowed the thousand pounds I borrowed of you; 

15* 



174 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

but it is no matter; this poor show doth better: 
this doth infer the zeal I had to see him." 

As they talked thus amid the murmuring crowd, 
a trumpet sounded within, and a shout went up, 
and presently the king, followed by his train, in 
which walked the chief justice, came forth. * * Save 
thy grace, King Hal! my royal Hal," cried Fal- 
staff; and again, ''Save thee, my sweet boy!" 
whereupon the young king, pausing, pointed 
sternly at the knight and said, * * My lord chief 
justice, speak to that vain man." Then the jus- 
tice, turning to Sir John, asked, " Have you your 
wits? know you what it is you speak?" But Fal- 
staff ignored his question and continued to cry, 
'* My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!" 
but the king gravely replied, * ' I know thee not, 
old man : fall to thy prayers. How ill white hairs 
become a fool and jester! I have long dreamed 
of such a kind of man, so surfeit-swelled, so old, 
and so profane; but being awake, I do despise my 
dream." Then he bid the knight henceforth to 
make less his body and more his grace; to know 
that the grave gaped for him thrice wider than for 
other men; and he told him to presume not that 
the king was the thing he was; for Heaven knew 
and the world should perceive that he had turned 
away from his former self. Upon this he banished 
Sir John forever, not to come near to his person 
by ten miles; but he allowed him a competence 
for living, so, as he said, the lack of means might 
not enforce him to evil. He assured the old 



KING HENRY IV. — PART II. 1 75 

knight that as he heard that he and his followers 
reformed themselves, he would, according to their 
strength and qualities, give them advancement, 
and he gave it into the charge of the chief justice 
to see these things performed. 

Then, in stately wise, the procession moved on, 
and Falstaff was left crestfallen in the midst of 
his wondering fellows. "Master Shallow," said 
he, with his accustomed audacity, ' ' I owe you a 
thousand pounds ; but do not grieve at this ; I 
shall be sent for in private to him; " and thus per- 
sisting in this explanation of the king's change, 
he asked all his followers to dinner. 

As they were about to go with him, the chief 
justice again appeared with a band of officers, who 
immediately arrested Falstaff to carry him off to 
the Fleet prison. The knight made a pitiful ap- 
peal to his old enemy; but the justice would not 
hear him, and he was borne away to banishment 
until his conversation should appear more wise 
and modest to the world. 




KING HENRY V 



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KING HENRY V. 



WHEN the wild Prince Hal, companion of 
rogues and cut-purses, ascended the throne 
as King Henry the Fifth of England, wisdom, like 
an angel, came and whipped the offending Adam 
out of him. Never was such a sudden scholar 
made ; never was reformation so complete. The 
whole nation was blessed in the change, for the 
young king was found to be master of the state 
craft; he could reason in divinity with his prelates, 
he was wise in policy, and he had at command the 
whole art of war. It was the wonder of his sub- 
jects how he should have gained such knowledge, 
for his time had been spent in vain courses and his 
years were still unripe. But the strawberry grows 
underneath the nettle, and so, it appeared, had the 
prince obscured his true character under the veil 
of wildness. 

Hence it was that when he became king he 
sagely remembered his father's advice to ''busy 
giddy minds with foreign quarrels," and began to 
make preparations for invading France, the crown 
of which he claimed to inherit from his great- 
in.—m 177 



178 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

grandsire and from Edward the Black Prince, his 
great uncle. He called his counsellors about him 
to justify his title to the French throne, and having 
received the sanction of the Archbishop of Can- 
terbury and of his subordinate prelates, and the 
encouragement of his warlike nobles, he deter- 
mined to make the French messengers, whom the 
dauphin had sent to him, and whom he was about 
to receive, bear back his defiance. 

Thus it was that these same messengers were 
brought before him as he held court in his room of 
state at London, and, addressing them from the 
throne, he said he was well prepared to know the 
pleasure of his fair cousin, the dauphin. The am- 
bassadors were bearers of an unwelcome message, 
and, fearing King Henry's anger, they prayed 
leave freely to render what they had been charged 
to say. This the king readily granted, and bid 
them tell him the dauphin's mind with uncurbed 
plainness. Then the Frenchmen, with what cour- 
tesy they could, said that King Henry, lately send- 
ing into France, had claimed certain dukedoms in 
the right of his great predecessor. King Edward 
the Third. In answer to which claim, quoth they, 
the prince, their master, said that King Harry 
savoured too much of his youth, and he bid him 
be advised that there was naught in France could 
he won by a nimble dance. Hereupon they brought 
forth a great cask, and, presenting it, said, * ' Our 
master, the dauphin, therefore sends you, meeter 
for your spirit, this tun of treasure, and, in Ueu of 



KING HENRY V. 1 79 

this, desires you to let the dukedoms you claim 
hear no more of you." The king asked his uncle, 
the Duke of Exeter, to examine the treasure, and 
this he did, but found only a heap of tennis-balls. 

King Henry took this grim pleasantry with a 
good countenance, and sent back to the dauphin 
a message bolder and more haughty than his 
own. ' ' We understand him well, ' ' he said, ' ' how 
he comes over us with our wilder days, not 
measuring what use we made of them ; but tell 
him I will keep my state, be like a king, and 
show my sail of greatness when I do rouse me 
in my throne of France. ' ' These, and many more 
defiant words the king uttered, and, at last, dis- 
missing the humbled ambassadors, he descended 
from his throne and moved among his lords, urging 
them to hurry on the expedition, for, as he said, he 
would chide this dauphin at his father's door. 

But when the time was ripe and the royal forces 
were about to embark from England, the king 
secretly learned of a conspiracy which was raising 
head against his life even among those nearest his 
person. For the French feared the might of the 
English arms notwithstanding the bold words of 
the dauphin, and they had made hidden endeavour 
to do that by foul means which they despaired of 
accomplishing in open warfare. They therefore 
took into their pay three of King Henry's chosen 
courtiers, men on whom he leaned for counsel 
and support, and these three, Richard, Earl of 
Cambridge ; Henry, Lord Scroop of Masham ; and 



l8o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Sir Thomas Grey, had sold their honour and 
conspired to kill the king. 

When King Henry arrived at Southampton and 
was on the eve of going aboard his ship, he drew 
these noblemen together and feigned as a last pre- 
caution to ask their advice. They did not sus- 
pect that the king had discovered their guilt, and 
were, indeed, then and there about to do their 
work of treachery; but the brave young king 
determined to make them foreswear themselves 
before he charged them with treason, and he asked 
many questions to which they needs must make 
loyal replies which they uttered with false hearts, 
but smiling faces. Then at last the king, to further 
try them, bid his uncle of Exeter to liberate the 
man committed yesterday for railing at his royal 
person, for his majesty said it was excess of wine 
that set him on, and upon inquiry he had been 
found to be worthy of pardon. Against this the 
three noblemen pleaded strenuously, for they said 
the king might be merciful, yet must for his own 
sake be just. "Alas," replied King Henry, 
* * your too much love and care for me are heavy 
orisons against this poor wretch, — and yet we will 
enlarge him. ' ' Then, returning again to his French 
causes, he asked, * * Who are the late commis- 
sioners?" to which each of the three lords an- 
swered that he was one, and the king handed 
them each in turn his commission. He stood 
scanning their faces with a grim smile as they read, 
and asked, ' ' Why, how now, gentlemen ? What 



KING HENRY V. l8l 

do you see in those papers that you lose so much 
colour? Look you how they change," he said, 
turning to the rest ; and the group about the 
king saw that the three nobles were deathly pale. 

The papers which he had handed them were 
in reality their death-warrants, and realizing that 
their treason was discovered, with one voice they ac- 
knowledged their guilt and pleaded to be speedily 
relieved by death from the shame which their dis- 
loyalty had brought upon them. '' God absolve 
you in his mercy, ' ' said the king. * ' You have 
conspired against our royal person, joined with a 
proclaimed enemy, and received from his coffers 
the golden earnest of our death. Touching our 
person, we seek no revenge; but we must preserve 
our kingdom's safety, and to its laws we now de- 
liver you." Then he bid his officers lead them 
hence, while he and his loyal lords hoisted sail and 
set out for France. 

All London that could bear arms had joined the 
king's forces, and it was not strange to find among 
his followers the company of mad rogues whose 
leader had been Sir John Falstaff, Nym, Bar- 
dolph, and Pistol, and the knight's one-time page 
had put on the livery of war and were outwardly 
as valiant soldiers as any in the king' s service ; 
but poor Sir John himself was not among them, 
for they had learned from Mistress Quickly just 
before their departure for France that the old 
knight had given up the ghost. "Nay, sure," 
said she, in her cockney speech, ''he's in Arthur's 

i6 



1 82 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went away, an* 
it had been any christom child; 'a parted even 
just between twelve and one, e'en at the turning 
o' the tide ; for after I saw him fumble with the 
sheets and play with flowers, and smile upon his 
fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for 
his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of 
green fields;" and thus describing with her simple 
words the very picture of Sir John's death, she 
bid them adieu, and they hurried off to the ships. 
The royal fleet held straight away for Harfleur, 
in France, and when the king arrived there he 
lost no time in laying siege to that city, for the 
authorities, expecting assistance from the dauphin, 
resisted his peaceful overtures, and he was resolved 
to take it by force if it would not acknowledge his 
right to be its ruler. All the great and powerful 
machinery of war, which King Henry knew well 
how to wield, was brought against the stubborn 
town, and the king himself led his soldiers up to 
the walls again and again, urging them on with 
courageous words and teaching them to cry, 
"God for Harry! England! and Saint George!" 
At last when the English had well-nigh won the 
day, the governor and some of the citizens of 
Harfleur came forth upon the walls, and held 
parley with the young king, who pictured to them 
the destruction which would surely overtake them 
if they persisted longer in refusing to open their 
gates. So grim were his words, and so deter- 
mined his mood, that the governor was forced to 



KING HENRY V. 1 83 

yield, and he Invited the EngHsh to enter. Then 
King Henry sent his uncle, the Earl of Exeter, 
into the town to fortify it strongly against the 
French; while he, because the winter was coming 
on and sickness growing among his soldiers, re- 
tired to Calais. 

But as the English army approached the Castle 
of Agincourt, the French, who had been watching 
King Henry's course, aware of his weakened con- 
dition and prepared to attack him at the first 
opportunity, came abreast of his column and 
camped at night within earshot of his sentinels. 
Camp-fire answered camp-fire through the dark- 
ness, and each line of battle could see the other's 
shadowed faces by the pale flames. The steeds 
of the opposing armies neighed to each other, 
and from the tents the busy hammers of the ar- 
mourers could be heard closing rivets up against 
the morrow's fight. 

At last the country cocks began to crow, and 
the clocks tolled the early morning in, while the 
confident and over-lusty French began to play at 
dice for the English they should capture, so to 
pass away the tardy night which kept them from 
their certain victory. But the poor condemned 
English sat patiently by their watch-fires inly 
ruminating on the morning's danger. Their lank- 
lean cheeks and war-worn coats presented them in 
the light of the gazing moon as so many horrid 
ghosts. King Henry walked from tent to tent 
visiting all the host, bidding them good-morrow, 



184 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

and, with a modest smile, calling them brothers, 
friends, and countrymen. Upon his royal face 
there lurked not a look to show how dread an 
army had surrounded him ; but he bore a cheerful 
semblance and sweet majesty, which every wretch 
who before was pale and pining saw with great 
comfort. 

To his brothers and nobles, who needed less his 
encouragement, he spoke inspiring words. He 
said to Gloster it was true that they were in great 
danger, but the greater therefore should be their 
courage ; and to his brother Bedford that there 
was some soul of goodness in things evil, if only 
men would observingly distil it out. 

But the leader of so bold an enterprise feels 
deeper pangs of doubt than even those whom he 
would arouse, and to him the pain is the more 
acute that he must suppress and conceal it. 
Hence it was that King Henry retired anon, say- 
ing he and his bosom must debate a while and be 
alone ; and going forth through his camp disguised 
both by the darkness and his habit, he encountered 
Pistol, with whom he exchanged some swaggering 
words, and finally as the morning broke he fell in 
with three soldiers and pleased his fancy by ques- 
tioning them about the king, and putting their loy- 
alty to the test. They asked him what his com- 
mander thought of their present estate, and, trying 
their mood, he answered that hi^ commander. Sir 
Thomas Erpingham, -thought them even as men 
wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off 



KING HENRY V. 185 

by the next tide. But, said they, he hath not told 
his thought to the king ? to which King Henry re- 
pHed, no, and that it was not meet he should; for 
though he now boldly spoke it to them, yet he 
deemed the king but a man as he was himself, to 
whom the violet smelt the same, and the air and 
sky had the like appearance, for all the king's 
senses had but human conditions, and, his cere- 
monies laid by, he appeared in his nakedness but 
a man. Yet, as he said, no man should possess 
the king with fears, lest he, by showing weakness, 
should dishearten his army. 

But the temper of the soldiers had been broken 
by privation and cold, and their courage had 
ebbed away as they wandered ill-fed and ill- clothed 
through that strange land, hence they answered 
that they believed the king, bitter as the night 
was, could wish himself in the Thames up to his 
neck, as they would be themselves, so they were 
quit of France. And when King Henry said he 
knew the king would not be anywhere but where 
he was, they replied that they would he were 
there alone. This grieved the troubled heart of 
Harry, who to enkindle their courage said he 
could not die anywhere so contented as in the 
king's company, his cause being just and his 
quarrel honourable; but they questioned the cause, 
saying its justice was more than they should seek 
after, for they knew enough if they knew they were 
the king's subjects, and if his cause were wrong 
their obedience would wipe away the crime; but 

16* 



1 86 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

if the cause were not good the king himself would 
have a heavy reckoning to answer for, and if his 
men did not die in holiness, it were a black matter 
for him who led them to it. 

Then with that same skill in reasoning which 
had surprised his lords and divines, King Henry- 
made it plain to the humbler understanding of 
these soldiers that the king was in no wise ac- 
countable for the particular deaths of his men, for 
there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, can 
try it out with all unspotted soldiers. So deeply, 
at last, did his words impress them, though he 
appeared to be but one of their own station, that 
they gave up questioning and resolved to fight 
lustily for the king. But one of them named Wil- 
liams thought the fellow boastful who had talked so 
confidently of his majesty, and when the stranger 
unguardedly said if he lived to see the king ran- 
somed by the French he would never trust his 
word more, the good soldier who had but a mo- 
ment ago doubted his king, took up his cause and 
mocked at one who had the impudence to say he 
would not trust the royal word. Seeing that he 
had nearly betrayed himself, and glad of so easy 
a way out of the dilemma, King Harry said the 
reproof was something too round, and that he 
would be angry if the time were convenient ; but 
Williams was a brave heart withal, and he pro- 
posed that it should be a quarrel between them if 
they lived through the coming battle. They then 
exchanged gloves as a gage, each putting the 



KING HENRY V. iSj 

Other' s in his hat, and the understanding was that 
upon either acknowledging his glove the quarrel 
should be fought out. Said Williams, * ' If ever 
you come to me and say, after to-morrow, ' This 
is my glove,' by this hand I will take you a box 
on the ear;" and the king replied that if ever he 
lived to see it, he would challenge it, even though 
he found Williams in the king's company. Here- 
upon the quarrel was like to have grown hot, but 
Bates, another of the company, urged them to 
be friends, for they already had French quarrels 
enough ; and Williams bidding the stranger keep 
his word, the three soldiers passed on, while the 
king went into the dusk to be alone before the 
battle. 

For a brief space he communed with himself 
and thought upon the vanity of kingship which 
costs so dear to him who wears the crown. But 
presently Sir Thomas Erpingham found him out 
in his seclusion and told him that all his nobles 
were seeking through his camp to find him. He 
bid the old knight to collect them all together at 
the royal tent, and then dismissed them, and 
made a last prayer to the God of battles that he 
would steel his soldiers' hearts and possess them 
not with fear. And because of his father's treat- 
ment of King Richard, he pleaded that God would 
think not upon his fault in compassing the crown, 
for that his son had newly interred King Richard's 
body and bestowed upon it more contrite tears 
than from it had issued drops of blood. With 



1 88 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

more devout thought he rose from his knees, and, 
uphfted by his devotion, went back to the camp 
prepared to lead his army with a stout heart 
against the foe. 

Meanwhile, in the French camp the richly ar- 
moured knights were preparing as for a holiday, 
rather than a battle. So much contempt had they 
for the few and feeble English, whom they outnum- 
bered five to one, that the warfare was but a matter 
of mirth with them and they expended their bright 
wits upon the enemy in many a quip which set all 
who heard it into laughter: as, that there was not 
work enough for their hands, nor blood enough in 
the poor band to give each of their curtle-axes a 
stain. And one said if they but blew upon them, 
the vapour of the French valour would overturn 
them; and it was certain that the very sound of 
their trumpets would bring the English to their 
knees. 

The dauphin feigned to fear that he should lose 
some of the glory he coveted in conquering King 
Henry because of his ill-conditioned soldiers, and, 
half in jest, he proposed to send them dinners and 
fresh suits and give their fasting horses provender, 
then to fight them. But he did not enough heed 
the noble temper of the English king, and he un- 
dervalued the courage of his soldiers, which ever 
rose with difficulties; for now in the face of sixty 
thousand French they were steeled to die rather 
than surrender, and, far from flying, looked eagerly 
for the battle to begin. 



KING HENRY V. 1 89 

A herald was sent to King Henry from the 
Constable of France, who was the leader of the 
French army, offering to accept a peace if the 
English king would pay a sufficient ransom; but 
King Henry made answer that they should con- 
quer him first and then sell his bones, and he 
added, "The man that did once sell the lion's skin 
while the beast lived was killed in hunting him," 
with much more that was manly and bold, which 
Montjoy, the herald, was charged to deliver to his 
master. 

And now, all offers of peace thus being rejected, 
the battle at last began and raged hotly through- 
out the field until the French ranks were broken 
and their craven troops began to fly. There were 
enough Frenchmen still alive to smother the Eng- 
lish in their throngs, but despite the efforts of their 
leaders, who, themselves also flying, were shamed 
into a brief resistance, the day was lost and King 
Henry and his army were left victors on the glori- 
ous field, which the king called Agincourt. 

Standing there in the flush of victory amid his 
nobles, the king saw near by him the soldier with 
whom, in his disguise, he had exchanged gloves in 
token of their quarrel, and he bid one call him 
thither. When this same Michael Williams came 
into his presence, King Henry asked him why he 
wore that glove in his hat, and Williams told him 
it was the gage of one he should fight with. The 
king, feigning not to know it, asked if this were 
an Englishman, and the soldier replied that it be- 



igO TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

longed to a rascal that swaggered with him last 
night, and then he told over the conditions of their 
quarrel, vowing that he would roundly box the 
ears of him who wore his glove. King Henry's 
old love for such merry tricks kindling anew, he 
put it to Captain Fluellen whether it were fit the 
soldier should keep his oath. ' ' He is a villain 
else," said the Welsh captain ; but the king ar- 
gued that he might have to challenge a gentleman 
of great rank. Fluellen held that though he were 
as good a gentleman as Beelzebub himself, yet it 
would be necessary that he keep his oath, and so 
the king, relishing the humour of the scene, bid 
the soldier keep his vow. Then he commanded 
him to call Captain Gower thither, and, while he 
was gone, he hastily thrust the glove that Williams 
had given him into Fluellen' s hand, asking him to 
stick it in his cap, for, he explained, when the 
Duke of Alen^on and he were down together in 
the fight, he had plucked this glove from his helm, 
and if any man challenged it he was a friend of 
Alengon, and hence an enemy to England; and he 
said if the captain encountered any such he should 
apprehend him, if he did love his king. The fiery 
Welshman was flattered by his majesty's show of 
confidence in him, and he said he would fain see 
the man that had but two legs that should find 
himself aggrieved at that glove. Then the king 
pretended again that he desired to see Gower, and 
sent Fluellen also to look for him; but when the 
Welsh captain was out of sight, he explained the 



KING HENRY V. I9I 

merry ruse of the glove, and hurried Warwick and 
his brother Gloster after him, for he feared that 
blood would be spilt between two such hot spirits 
as Williams and the Welshman. 

Presently these two met, Williams promptly 
challenging the glove in Fluellen's hat and striking 
him roundly on the ear, whereupon the Welshman 
would have made short work of the soldier, but 
for the timely arrival of Warwick and Gloster. In 
another instant the king came up crying, with 
well-feigned surprise, ''How now! What's the 
matter ?' ' to which Fluellen proudly answered that 
he had caught the traitor. Williams pleaded that 
in buffeting the wearer of the glove he had but 
kept his oath; but the Welshman called him by a 
score of foul names, and asked the king to bear 
witness that the glove the soldier had challenged 
was his majesty's own. Then King Henry took 
his glove from Williams, and holding up its fellow, 
showed him that the owner was the king. ' * 'Twas 
I you promised to strike," he said, "and you have 
spoken most vilely of me." Fluellen said the sol- 
dier's neck should answer for it if there was any 
martial law in the world, and the king asked him 
how he could make satisfaction for his disloyalty. 
Williams's stout English heart was undismayed by 
the captain's threat or the king's question, and he 
answered that all offences come from the heart, 
and never came any from his that might offend 
his king; whereupon the king, who was but put- 
ting the brave fellow to the test, bid his uncle of 



192 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Exeter to fill a glove with crowns and give it to 
him, saying, "Keep it fellow, and wear it as an 
honour in your cap till I do challenge it." Then 
he commanded the good Welsh captain to be 
friends with the soldier, and the merry sport, 
which even on the battle-field cheered the gay 
heart of King Hal, was ended in a pleasant leave- 
taking. 

When the reckoning of the fight was made it 
was found that many noble prisoners had fallen 
into the hands of the English, and that ten thou- 
sand of the French lay slain upon the field, while 
King Henry had lost but five-and-twenty men, 
and only two or three of rank. 

With a deep thankfulness for their good fortune, 
the conquerors started in procession towards the 
village, there to give praise to God, for, said the 
king: '*It is His only," and to do all holy rites; 
and when the mass was sung and the dead were 
buried, the host set out for Calais, and so for 
England, where when they landed on the beach 
they were greeted by throngs of old men and 
wives and boys, whose shouts and claps out- 
roared the deep-mouthed sea. 

The king solemnly set on to London, but when 
he was come to Blackheath the great lords desired 
him to have his bruised helmet and his bended 
sword borne before him into the city; but he for- 
bid it, being free from vanity and vainglorious 
pride, and said that praise for his conquests be- 
longed only to God. 



KING HENRY V. I93 

London poured out her citizens to meet its vic- 
torious king and his brave army, and fetched 
them into the city in triumph. There for a brief 
time the king remained, but it was not long before 
he returned again to France with all his nobles in 
his train and visited the French king and his court 
at Troyes, in Champagne. 

The Duke of Burgundy had laboured diligently 
to bring about this royal interview, and now he 
prayed their majesties, in the presence of all the 
proud nobles of either realm, that peace, the dear 
nurse of arts and joyful births, might again be al- 
lowed to reign in France, the best garden of the 
world, whither for so long a time she had been 
chased. To this King Henry replied that if the 
French wanted peace they must buy it with full 
accord to all his just demands, whose conditions he 
had duly made known. But though the French 
king had heard these conditions, he had as yet made 
no answer, for, as he said, he had but glanced 
over them with a cursory eye; and he now asked 
King Henry if he would consent to appoint some 
of his council to sit with him once again and thus 
to re-survey the articles, when he would presently 
pass his final answer. To this King Henry as- 
sented ; but he asked that his cousin Katharine, 
the French king's daughter, might remain with 
him while the rest withdrew, for she was the 
subject of his chief demand contained in the ar- 
ticles they were to examine. 

When ail were gone out save King Harry and 
III. — I n 17 



194. TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

this fair French princess, the outspoken king 
began without preface to woo her, and asked if 
she would vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms such 
as would enter at a lady's ear and plead his 
love-suit to her gentle heart? She could little 
comprehend such an unceremonious speech even 
if she had better known the language in which it 
was spoken ; but King Harry, impetuous in his 
love-making as in all else, told her that if she 
would love him soundly with her French heart he 
would be glad to hear her confess it brokenly with 
her English tongue. " Do you like me, Kate?" 
he asked. She could not understand what ' ' like 
me" meant; but he said an angel was like her, in 
his punning English; and when she replied that 
tongues of men were full of deceits, he said he 
was glad she could speak no better English, be- 
cause, if she could, she would find him so plain a 
king that she would think he had sold his farm to 
buy his crown. '' I know no ways to mince it in 
love, ' ' quoth he, ' ' but directly to say, * I love you ; ' 
then if you urge me further than to say, ' Do you 
in faith ?' I wear out my suit. ' ' And his impa- 
tient English spirit brooking no delay, he bid her 
give him her answer, and so clap hands and a bar- 
gain. " How say you lady ?" cried he; but all she 
said was, "Me understand well." "Marry," he 
ran on, ' * if you would put me to verses or to dance 
for your sake, why, you undo me. If I could 
win a lady at leap-frog or by vaulting into my 
saddle with my armour on my back, I should 



KING HENRY V. 1 95 

quickly leap into a wife; but before God, Kate, I 
cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence; 
nor have I any cunning in protestation ; only down- 
right oaths which I never use till urged, nor never 
break for urging. ' ' And he protested if she could 
love a fellow of this temper, whose face was not 
worth sunburning, she was welcome to him ; for 
he spoke to her plain soldier ; if she could love 
him so, she might take him; if not, to say that he 
should die were true enough, but for her sake 
never; yet he did vow he loved her, too. Thus 
he pleaded till he had well-nigh won her; but coyly 
weighing his love with her duty, she said it was 
not possible she should love the enemy of France; 
and he granted as much, but argued that by loving 
him she should love the friend of France, for he 
loved France so well that he would not part with 
a village of it, he would have it all his. ' * And 
Kate," he said, ''when France is mine and I am 
yours, then yours is France and you are mine." 
' ' I cannot tell vat is dat, ' ' said she, in her broken 
accents; so he told her in equally broken French. 
Then again and again he asked her in good round 
Saxon if she loved him ; till at last she gave a shy 
consent, and he. kissed her hand and called her 
his queen. She tried to withdraw her hand, say- 
ing the king must not bend down to kiss the 
hand of his servant, whereupon he vowed he 
would kiss her lips; but she told him it was not 
the fashion in France for maids to kiss before 
marriage; which precaution he cast to the winds, 



196 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

for, quoth he, nice customs curtsy to great kings, 
and straightway he kissed her on the mouth. 
Said he, ' ' You have witchcraft in your Hps, Kate, 
for there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of 
them than in the tongues of the French council ; 
and they should sooner persuade Harry of Eng- 
land than a general petition of monarchs." 

At this moment the French king and queen 
and the lords with whom they had been closeted 
over King Henry's demands returned to the 
chamber. The Duke of Burgundy, seeing how 
the case stood between the English king and the 
French princess, asked if he was teaching her 
English ; but the king made no concealment of his 
suit and frankly told the duke that he would have 
her learn to love him, and that was good English; 
then turning to the French king he asked, ab- 
ruptly, ' ' Shall Kate be my wife ?" "So please 
you," was the reply, and King Henry said he 
was content if the maid that stood in the way of 
his wish should show him the way to his will. 
But the French king, having felt the warlike power 
of the English, had found it wise to give consent 
to all the conditions imposed by King Henry, and 
there was nothing now to bar him from his will 
nor to impede him in his love-making. He asked 
of his lords of England if the French king had 
yielded all, and they said, all, saving that he had 
not yet subscribed to the condition that upon 
having occasion to write for a matter of grant, he 
should name King Henry, in French, his very 



KING HENRY V. I97 

dear son Henry, King of England, and heir of 
France, and after it, the same in Latin. This 
also, the French king finally yielded, and in all 
love and dear alliance he gave his daughter to 
King Henry, bidding him take her, and from her 
royal blood to rear up issue to him, that the con- 
tending kingdoms of France and England, whose 
very shores looked pale with envy of each other's 
happiness, might cease their hatred forever. 
"Amen!" cried all the nobles in the royal trains 
of England and France, and King Henry kissed 
the princess in token that she was to be his sover- 
eign queen; whereupon he ordered his servants to 
prepare for their marriage. ^^On which day," 
said he to the assembled lords, * ' will I swear to 
Kate, and you shall swear to me; and may our 
oaths be well-kept and prosperous!" 




END OF VOL. I. 



TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE 

BY 

HARRISON S. MORRIS. 
VOL. II, 



CONTENTS, VOLUME II. 



PAGB 

King Henry VI. — Part 1 7 

King Henry VI. — Part II 33 

King Henry VI. — Part III 59 

King Richard III 87 

King Henry VIII 113 

Coriolanus 139 

Julius Caesar 167 

Antony and Cleopatra 193 



111 



ILLUSTRATIONS, VOLUME II. 



/ PAGB 

^ King Henry VI.— Part 1 7 

(X King Henry VI.— Part III 59 

/king Henry VIII I33 

/Antony and Cleopatra i93 



KING HENRY VI.— PARI' /. 



.\ V^Ak^X— .Y\ IT^'AAW O^AVA 



KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 



UPON the death of King Henry the Fifth of 
England the possessions which he had con- 
quered in France began to revolt from the English 
crown and go back to their allegiance to the 
Dauphin Charles, who was thereupon proclaimed 
King of France at Rheims. With this prince 
were joined the Bastard of Orleans; Reignier, 
Duke of Anjou; and the Duke of Alen9on, who, 
with their forces, made a formidable array of 
strength against their English masters. 

The successor of King Henry the Fifth upon 
the English throne was his son, the young Prince 
Henry, who assumed the title of King Henry the 
Sixth; but he was over-young to reign, and hence 
his uncle Humphrey, Duke of Gloster, was made 
Protector until he should be old enough to take 
up the sceptre. 

There was but one English warrior then in 
France on whom his countrymen could rely in this 
emergency, and this was Lord Talbot, a stout and 
courageous knight whom the English loved and 



8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the French mightily feared. But as the great 
lords stood mourning about King Henry's coffin 
in Westminster Abbey, certain ill tidings came to 
them of Talbot's capture by the French, which 
added tenfold to the bitterness of their grief. A 
messenger, hastily arrived from France, brought 
the news that Talbot was overthrown on the tenth 
of the previous August, when, retiring from the 
siege of Orleans and having scarcely six thou- 
sand men in his troop, he was surrounded and set 
upon before he had leisure even to form them 
into ranks. He wanted pikes to set before his 
archers and protect them from the French horse- 
men, but instead of these he plucked out hedges 
and pitched them confusedly into the ground. 
The fight, said the messenger, lasted more than 
three hours, where the valiant Talbot enacted 
wonders with his sword and lance. He slew hun- 
dreds, and none durst stand out against him; he 
was here, there, and everywhere, till the French 
exclaimed that Satan was in arms, and all the 
whole army stood at gaze upon him. His sol- 
diers, spying his undaunted spirit, cried out amain 
and rushed into the midst of the battle. And 
here the conquest would have been fully achieved 
if Sir John Fastolfe had not played the coward. 
This false knight was in the rear, where he had 
been placed on purpose to relieve and follow his 
fellow-leaders, but he fled without striking a blow, 
and hence grew the general massacre of the Eng- 
lish, who were enclosed with their enemies. A 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. 9 

base Walloon, at this point, thrust a spear into 
Talbot's back, whom all France durst not presume 
to look in the face. But though he was wounded, 
the messenger said, Talbot was still alive, and a 
prisoner, as were also his fellow-lords, Scales and 
Hungerford. 

The receipt of such alarming news, with addi- 
tional tidings that Orleans was besieged and the 
English army grown weak and faint, turned the 
nobles away from their mourning and set them in- 
stantly into action. The Dukes of Exeter, Bed- 
ford, Gloster, and the Bishop of Winchester, 
uncles of the young king, turned from the grave 
of Henry and began at once to make preparations 
for reinforcing the Earl of Salisbury, Lord Tal- 
bot's successor in the leadership, who sadly needed 
supplies and whose men were hardly kept from 
mutiny, so few were they in proportion to the 
multitude of their enemies. 

Taking advantage of this, the French made 
strenuous endeavor to relieve Orleans, but they 
found the Englishmen, so they said, all Samsons 
and Goliaths; lean, raw-boned rascals, who showed 
unheard-of courage and audacity even in their 
weakness; and King Charles of France, finding 
that it was hopeless to take the city by force, 
resolved to let hunger conquer those who held it. 

As he was about to withdraw his forces and thus 
leave the field to the English, the Bastard of Or- 
leans sought him out in his camp, and told him of 
unexpected succour which was at hand. This, said 



lO TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the bearer of the news, was a certain holy maid 
who, by a vision sent to her from heaven, was 
ordained to raise the tedious siege and drive the 
English from France. He said she had a spirit 
of deep prophecy exceeding the nine sibyls of 
Rome, for she could descry what was past and 
what was to come, and he asked the king if he 
should bring her into his presence. Driven by ill- 
success in the field to snatch at any hope, Charles 
commanded that the maid should be called in 
to him; but first, to try her skill, he said. Lord 
Reignier should stand as dauphin in his place; 
and he told Reignier to question her proudly and 
let his looks be stern, for by such means they 
might sound what skill in divination she really had. 

When La Pucelle, as she was called, came in- 
to the royal presence, Reignier, pretending to be 
the dauphin, said, ''Fair maid, is it you who do 
these wondrous feats?" and she straightway an- 
swered, ' ' Reignier, is it you who think to beguile 
me?" Then she asked for the dauphin's self, and 
looking about her, bid him come from his hiding- 
place, for she knew him well, though she had never 
seen him. But she bid him not to be amazed, 
for nothing was hid from her, and motioned him 
apart that they might talk in private. 

She then told the dauphin her history. She 
was by birth, she said, a shepherd's daughter. 
Her wit was untrained in any kind of art, but it 
had pleased Heaven to shine on her contemptible 
estate, for while she waited on her tender lambs and 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. II 

displayed her cheeks to the parching sun, God's 
mother deigned to appear to her, and, in a vision 
full of majesty, willed her to leave her base voca- 
tion and free her country from calamity. The 
Virgin promised her success, and revealed herself 
in complete glory; and, the maid said, whereas 
she was black and swart before, the clear rays 
which the Virgin shed upon her infused her with 
the beauty she was then blessed with, which the 
prince might see. She told him that she could 
answer unpremeditated any question he might ask 
her, or if he dared to try her courage in combat, 
he would find that she exceeded her sex, where- 
fore he should be fortunate if he received her for 
his warlike mate. 

The dauphin was astonished by her high terms, 
and asked only the proof of arms; for, if she 
should buckle with him in combat and should 
vanquish him, her words were proven true; other- 
wise, he would renounce all confidence in her. 

She was prepared, and showed her keen-edged 
sword decked with five flower-de-luces on each 
side, which she had chosen at Touraine, in St. 
Katharine's churchyard, out of a great deal of old 
iron. "Come, then, o' God's name; I fear no 
woman," said the dauphin. And at once they 
brandished their arms and began the fight. It 
did not take long for the Maid of Orleans to over- 
come the dauphin, and in a little space he cried 
out, " Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon, 
and fightest with the sword of Deborah." The 



12 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Maid said that Christ's mother helped her, else 
she were too weak; and the dauphin, convinced 
of her supernatural gifts, told her that whoever 
helped her, she must help him, for he was not 
only subdued by her skill in arms, but his heart 
also was conquered. ' ' Excellent Pucelle, ' ' quoth 
he, "let me be thy servant, not thy sovereign;" 
but she said she must not yield to any rites of 
love, for her profession was sacred; nor would she 
think upon a recompense until she had chased all 
foes from France. She was, she said, assigned to 
be the English scourge, and she promised to raise 
the siege of Orleans that very night. 

The English had, in the mean time, won the 
suburbs of Orleans, and the Lords Salisbury and 
Talbot, the latter of whom had now escaped from 
the French, with Sir William Glansdale and Sir 
Thomas Gargrave, climbed to the upper chamber 
of a tall tower which overlooked the city, to lay 
plans for its capture. The dauphin had learned 
that it was the wont of the English leaders to as- 
cend this same tower and peer across the walls from 
its iron-grated windows, and he bid his master 
gunner direct a piece of ordnance against it, and 
watch for the foe to appear there. Thus it was 
that while these English generals were listening to 
Lord Talbot's account of his cruel treatment in the 
French prison and of his escape, a shot was fired 
which struck through the window and killed Lord 
Salisbury and Sir Thomas Gargrave. As Talbot, 
driven to desperation by this sudden loss of friends 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. I3 

and able supporters, was crying aloud to them in 
his grief, a messenger came panting up the steps, 
and told him the French had gathered head, for 
the dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle, a holy- 
prophetess newly risen up, had come with a great 
power to raise the siege. 

More than ever vengeful, Talbot rose up from 
the side of Salisbury, crying, '* Frenchmen, I'll 
be a Salisbury to you. I'll stamp your hearts out 
with my horse's heels," and he bid the messenger 
bear Lord Salisbury's body into his tent, then 
hurried away to meet the enemy. 

It was not difficult for him to drive back the 
dauphin, but when the Maid of Orleans advanced 
in reinforcement of her royal leader, the English 
took alarm at the unwonted spectacle and fled 
before her. This was a sight new to both English 
and French, and it angered Talbot, who himself 
came forward to lead his flying troops. He was 
astounded at such a show of cowardice, and when 
the Maid herself came up with him, he vowed he 
would have a bout with her, be she devil or devil's 
dam. "I will draw blood on you, witch!" he 
cried, and they straightway fell to blows; but the 
powerful Maid had not strength enough to over- 
come so valorous a knight as Talbot. She retired 
in a little space, bidding him farewell, and saying 
that his hour had not yet come. She succeeded, 
however, in spite of him, in entering Orleans with 
her followers, and this so enraged him that he bid 
his dishonoured soldiers tear the lions out of Eng- 



14 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

land's coat of arms, and renounce their soil, for 
thus running like sheep from their often-subdued 
slaves, the French. And presently, the more to 
inflame Lord Talbot's anger, the Pucelle, with the 
dauphin, and Lords Reignier and Alengon, ap- 
peared above on the walls of the city, and advanced 
their colors defiantly in the face of the English. 

All that day the followers of the dauphin ca- 
roused and banqueted in celebration of their con- 
quest, and at night they slept so soundly that no 
soul heard the approach of Lord Talbot and his 
forces, who came stealthily with scaling-ladders and 
drums beating a dead march to surprise the town. 
Lord Talbot decided to make his entrance several 
ways, so that if one party failed the other might 
still rise against the enemy's force. To this end 
Lord Bedford agreed to go to one corner, and the 
Duke of Burgundy to another. They scaled the 
walls, crying, "St. George! A Talbot!" but were 
not detected until all had entered the city, when a 
sentinel more wakeful than his fellows, called to 
arms, and in an instant the French generals, half 
ready and half unready, entering from all sides, 
leaped over the walls for safety. They had never 
known so warlike an enterprise or a more venturous 
or desperate one, and they looked upon Talbot as 
a very fiend. 

As the Bastard, Alen9on, and Reignier stood 
together beneath the walls, thankful for their 
escape, and marvelling how the dauphin and the 
Maid of Orleans had sped, these latter approached 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. 1 5 

them. Charles was angered with the Maid, and 
charged her with deceit and cunning because she 
had not warned him of the English attack; but 
she pleaded that her power could not always be 
alert whether she were awake or asleep, and said 
if his improvident soldiers had kept good watch 
the sudden mischief would never have overtaken 
them. Then the dauphin blamed the default upon 
the Duke of Alencon, who, being captain of the 
night watch, looked no better to that weighty 
charge; but the duke denied that it was his fault, 
as did all the others ; and the Maid said that the 
deed being done, it behooved them all the more 
speedily to gather their scattered soldiers and lay 
new platforms to endamage the English in their 
stronghold. But at this moment a sudden alarm 
was heard near by, and an English soldier ap- 
proached crying, ' ' A Talbot ! " in very terror of 
which name the mighty leaders of the French took 
to their heels, leaving their clothes behind them as 
booty for this feigning soldier, who used no other 
weapon but his commander's awful name. 

Among the English in the city of Orleans there 
was great rejoicing at the victory, but this was 
stilled for a time by Lord Talbot, who bid his fol- 
lowers bring forth the body of old Lord Salisbury 
and bury it in the market-place. There he vowed 
he would erect a tomb to this brave warrior upon 
which should be engraved a record of the sack of 
Orleans and of the treacherous manner of the old 
lord's death. 



1 6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

When Salisbury had been buried, Talbot was 
about to sally forth and follow the French with 
all his power, when a messenger arrived from a 
certain French lady, the Countess of Auvergne, 
who, the bearer said, admiring Talbot's renown, 
entreated that he would vouchsafe to visit her poor 
castle, that she might boast she had beheld the 
man whose glory filled the world with loud report. 
Talbot returned great thanks and said that in all 
submission he would attend her. He then dis- 
missed the messenger and called one of his own 
captains to him, in whose ear he whispered some 
instructions. "You perceive my mind?" asked 
his lordship, aloud. "I do, my lord, ' ' said the 
captain, *'and mean accordingly;" and he was 
then dismissed. 

When the gallant Talbot reached the castle of 
the countess, he was ushered into her presence 
by the messenger who had visited him. ' ' Is this 
the scourge of France?" exclaimed the lady. 
** Madam, it is," answered Talbot, with a low 
bow. "Then I see report is false," said the 
countess. ' ' I thought I should have seen a Her- 
cules of large proportions and well-knit limbs ! 
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf It cannot be, 
this weak shrimp should strike such terror to his 
enemies. ' ' Lord Talbot knew better the needs of 
courtesy than to resent such unmannerly speeches, 
and he only bowed the lower at the lady's coarse 
language, saying that since her ladyship was not 
at leisure he would find some other time to visit 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. I7 

her. He started to go, but was detained by the 
servant of the countess, who craved to know the 
cause of his abrupt departure. His lordship said 
he went to certify her that the real Talbot was 
there. * ' Then, ' ' cried the lady, triumphantly, ' ' if 
you are he, you are a prisoner." ''Prisoner! to 
whom ?' * dauntlessly asked Talbot. She told him 
to her, and said that it was for that purpose she had 
decoyed him to her house. A long time had his 
shadow been thrall to her, for his picture hung in 
her gallery ; but now his substance should endure 
the like treatment, for she meant to chain up those 
legs and arms that had by tyranny wasted her 
country for so many years. Talbot laughed gaily 
at her boast, and told her that it rejoiced him to see 
her so fond as to think that she had aught but 
Talbot's shadow on which to practise her severity. 
"Why, are you not the man?" asked she. "I 
am, indeed," he replied. "Then I have substance 
too," she returned; but he laughed again at her 
assurance, and said that had she the whole frame 
there, it were of so lofty a pitch that her roof would 
not be sufficient to contain it. She wondered how 
such contrarieties could agree, and presently he 
showed her ; for, winding a blast upon his horn, 
there came a sound of drums from without the 
castle and then a peal of cannon ; next the gates 
were suddenly forced, and Lord Talbot's soldiers 
came thronging in. "How say you, madam?" 
he asked, ' ' are you now persuaded that Talbot is 
but a shadow of himself?" He told her that these 
IV. — b 2* 



I8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

were his substance, sinews, arms, and strength ; 
and she, sorely astonished, was moved to ask his 
pardon for her abuse, saying she found he was no 
less than fame reported. Then, with courtly gal- 
lantry, this knight, whom she had called a silly 
dwarf, assured her that what she had done had 
not offended him, nor did he crave other satisfac- 
tion than a taste of wine and such delicacies as she 
might be able to provide, for soldiers' stomachs 
always served them well. ' ' With all my heart, ' ' 
said she; "and think me honored to feast so great 
a warrior in my house. ' ' 

In the mean time, the French, having lost Or- 
leans, determined to march against Rouen; and 
one night, after they had arrived below its walls, 
the Maid of Orleans, with several soldiers disguised 
like countrymen and bearing market-sacks upon 
their backs, came to the city gates and knocked 
for admittance to the market. They were chal- 
lenged by the guard within, but were careful to 
talk like the vulgar sort of marketmen, and so 
gained an entrance without trouble. 

When she first set foot upon the streets of the 
city. La Pucelle exclaimed with triumph, ''Now, 
Rouen, I'll shake your bulwarks to the ground!" 
and, full of hope and courage, led her followers to 
a tower, from a window of which she had agreed 
with the dauphin to thrust a torch, which should 
be a signal for the attack from without. 

The dauphin with his generals and forces were 
on the watch for the signal, and immediately upon 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. 1 9 

its appearance they forced an entrance by the same 
gate where La Pucelle had entered, peaHng forth 
their battle cry, ** The dauphin!" and doing exe- 
cution on the watch as they thronged into the 
town. 

Aroused by the tumult, Lord Talbot and certain 
English troops came running up, and went into 
the town in pursuit of the French. There was a 
great clamor and noise of arms, and a vast con- 
course of opposing forces, out of which presently 
came the Duke of Bedford, uncle of the English 
king and regent of France, who was carried in a 
chair, being sick ; and about him pressed Lord 
Talbot, the Duke of Burgundy, and the English 
forces. 

As these paused under the walls, there came 
forth above La Pucelle ; the dauphin Charles ; the 
Bastard of Orleans ; Alengon, and other French 
leaders ; and stepping forward, the warlike Joan 
of Arc bid the English a mocking good-morrow 
and asked if they wanted corn for bread. The 
Duke of Burgundy, who, though a French noble- 
man, was loyal to the English, defied her, calling 
her fiend and courtesan, for so he and his allies 
thought this maid who had put off womanhood 
and could ride and fight like a warrior among 
men. Talbot, too, took up her challenge, crying, 
*' Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, I'll 
have a bout with you again, or else let Talbot 
perish with this shame." She sent back a taunt- 
ing answer ; but the English little heeded it, for 



20 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

they had turned to consult together upon the 
course to be taken. After this Talbot advanced 
and cried aloud to those on the walls, * ' Dare ye 
come forth and meet us in the field?" The Maid's 
reply was, ' * Belike your lordship takes us then 
for fools, to try if our own be ours or no." 

Led by Talbot, the Englishmen then swore an 
oath that they would get the town back or die, 
for King Henry had won it by force of arms said 
they, and in it was the heart of great Coeur de 
Lion buried, and it was very dear to all men of 
English blood. 

Before they set about their warlike preparations, 
Talbot offered to bestow the valiant old Duke of 
Bedford in some place fitter for sickness and for 
crazy age ; but the stout old soldier pleaded that 
they would not so dishonour him, saying that he 
would sit before the walls of Rouen and be a 
partner in the weal or woe of his countrymen. 
''Undaunted spirit in a dying breast, be it so !" 
said Talbot; then, turning to Burgundy, he bid 
him gather the forces and set upon the boasting 
enemy. 

But before the attack had well begun Sir John 
Fastolfe retreated in great haste, and being over- 
taken by a certain captain, he told him that he 
meant to save himself by flight, for the English 
were again like to suffer an overthrow. ' ' What !' ' 
said the captain, ' ' will you fly, and leave Lord 
Talbot?" and Fastolfe replied that he would 
abandon all the Talbots in the world to save his 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. 21 

life. ** Cowardly knight!" cried the brave cap- 
tain. * * Ill-fortune follow you. ' ' And they parted 
and went their several ways, just as La Pucelle and 
the French generals came forth the gates in flight 
before the victorious English. 

At sight of this happy conclusion of the battle, 
the dying Bedford, satisfied at having seen his 
enemies overthrown, gave up the ghost, and his 
attendants carried his aged body away in the chair 
in which he had died. 

Then came forth from the gates Talbot and 
all his followers, giving thanks to Heaven for such 
a victory, and wondering where now were the 
Bastard's braves and Charles and La Pucelle; for 
Rouen hung her head in grief that such a gallant 
company were fled. ' ' Now will we make some 
order in the town, and then depart for Paris, to 
the king, for there young Harry lies with all his 
nobles," said Talbot. But before he went, this 
stout warrior, whose gallant heart ever exalted 
bravery in others, ordered a fitting funeral for the 
dead Duke of Bedford, than whom, he said, a 
braver soldier never couched lance nor a gentler 
heart never swayed in court. 

The French in their flight from Rouen had 
reached a plain some distance from the city; and 
there encamped, they counselled together over 
their defeat. ' ' Let frantic Talbot triumph for a 
while, and sweep along his tail like a peacock," 
said the crestfallen Pucelle; "we'll pull his plumes 
and take away his train, if the dauphin and the 



22 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

rest will be but ruled." The dauphin still be- 
lieved in the Maid's heavenly guidance, and told 
her that one sudden foil should not breed distrust; 
while the Bastard and Alen9on prayed her, with 
promises of fame and vows to raise her statue in 
some holy place, that she would employ herself 
for their good. She said there was but one way 
to achieve victory: they must entice the Duke of 
Burgundy with fair pursuasions, mixed with sugar 
words, to leave Talbot and follow them. This 
seemed hopeless to the dauphin; but she said they 
should see how she would work to bring the matter 
to the wished-for end; and, happily for her pur- 
pose, just at that same instant of time the trumpets 
were heard which led the English in their march 
to Paris. 

The long lines of Talbot's soldiery, with all 
their colors spread, soon came into sight in the 
distance; and after them, preceded by trumpets 
playing a French march, came the Duke of Bur- 
gundy and his forces, whom, the Maid begged 
fortune, might be made to lag behind. She then 
commanded a parley to be sounded while she ad- 
vanced to talk with the duke. 

When, at her earnest entreaty. Burgundy 
stopped to listen to her plea, she begged him in 
words which held enchantment, to look upon his 
country and see how the towns and cities were 
defaced by wasting ruin of the cruel foe. ' * See 
the pining malady of France," she cried; ''be- 
hold the most unnatural wounds which you have 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. 23 

given her woful breast. O turn your edged sword 
another way; strike those that hurt, and hurt not 
those that help !" Thus imploring, she wrought 
so deeply upon the yielding heart of the duke that 
he confessed himself bewitched and immediately 
relented. She followed up her advantage by pic- 
turing the state of his native land were English 
Harry crowned its king, and by appeaUng to his 
jealousy against the English ; till presently he 
cried out that he was vanquished and asked for- 
giveness of his country and sweet countrymen. 
He embraced in turn all his fellow-nobles of 
France, and told them that henceforward his power 
of men and all his forces were theirs. ' ' So fare- 
well, Talbot," quoth he; "I'll no longer trust 
you." The Maid of Orleans cried, ** Done like a 
Frenchman!" while the dauphin Charles welcomed 
the duke warmly into his ranks. 

Having thus won a powerful reinforcement and 
deprived the enemy of a chief ally, the French 
were mightily encouraged and set forward at once, 
seeking how they might best prejudice the foe. 

But, in the mean time. Lord Talbot and his 
forces had reached Paris, and his lordship sought 
an audience with King Henry in the palace there, 
that he might, as he said, do his duty to his sov- 
ereign ; in sign of which his arm, which had 
reclaimed to the English throne fifty fortresses, 
twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength, 
let fall his sword before the king's feet; and with 
submissive loyalty of heart, he ascribed the glory of 



24 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

his conquests first to his God and next to the king". 
Turning to his uncle Gloster, King Henry asked 
if this were the Lord Talbot that had so long been 
resident in France; and when he was told that it 
was the same valiant knight, he gave him hearty 
welcome, and graciously remembered that, when 
he was young, his father had told him that a 
stouter champion never handled sword. Then he 
thanked Talbot for his faithful service which had 
never yet been rewarded, and bid him stand up, 
whereupon he created him, for his good deserts, 
Earl of Shrewsbury, and ordered that he should 
take his place at his coronation. 

This ceremony occurred a few days later, and 
at its close, came hastening into the room of state 
Sir John Fastolfe, saying he had ridden from Cal- 
ais to deliver to his gracious sovereign a letter 
from the Duke of Burgundy. 

The impetuous Talbot cried shame on the duke 
and on Fastolfe, and, as he had vowed he would 
do when he next met this false knight, he boldly 
tore the insignia of the garter from his leg. Then 
he turned with deep submission to the king and 
the rest and asked pardon for his act, saying 
that, at the battle of Patay, when he was but six 
thousand strong and the French had ten to one, 
this craven knight had run away before a stroke 
was given; and he asked them to judge whether 
he had done amiss, or whether a coward ought to 
wear such an ornament of knighthood. 

The king was incensed against the dastardly 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. 2$ 

traitor, and instantly banished him, and he went 
humbled from the presence. Then King Henry- 
bid the Lord Protector to view the letter which 
this Fastolfe had brought from his uncle of Bur- 
gundy; and when the seal was broken, it was found 
to contain, in a few blunt words, the duke's recan- 
tation of his alliance with the English. * ' Why, 
then, ' ' said the king, ' ' Lord Talbot shall give him 
chastisement;" and Talbot eagerly undertook the 
task, setting out immediately to gather strength 
and march against the rebel and his forces. 

He proceeded first to Bordeaux and demanded 
its surrender, but here he met with resistance, and 
while he held parley with the French general 
whom he had summoned to the walls, drums were 
sounded afar off, which, when he heard, this offi- 
cer knew them to be the joyful tidings that the 
dauphin was approaching to his relief 

Talbot and his force also heard the drums, and 
they knew that it could be none other than the 
dauphin whose army had thus surprised them 
and cut off their retreat. But the hearts of Eng- 
lish soldiers ever grow stouter with the approach 
of danger, and every warrior of Talbot's force 
resolved to sell his life as dear as might be. 

Now, the Duke of York and the Duke of 
Somerset, who were also in the field against the 
French, should long before this have come to 
Lord Talbot's relief; but they were the leaders of 
the opposing factions of the houses of Lancaster 
and of York, and so jealous and suspicious were 

B 3 



26 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

they of each other that Somerset had wilfully 
failed to send to York a supply of horsemen which 
had been promised him. With this for an ex- 
cuse, the Duke of York told Talbot's messenger, 
who now appealed to him for aid, that he could 
offer none. A like reply was given by the Duke 
of Somerset when the messenger approached him, 
for he alleged that this expedition was too rashly 
plotted by York and Talbot, and that Talbot had 
sullied in this venture all his gloss of former honour. 
In the mean while, Lord Talbot had encamped 
and held his ground near Bordeaux, and his 
young son, John Talbot, whom he had sent for to 
tutor him in the stratagems of war, arrived just 
on the eve of a batde with the French. ** O ma- 
lignant and ill-boding stars !" cried Lord Talbot 
upon seeing his beloved son, for he knew that 
the youth had come unto a feast of death and 
a terrible and unavoided danger. He bid him, 
therefore, mount on his swiftest horse, and said he 
would direct him how to escape. * ' Is my name 
Talbot, and am I your son? And shall I fly?" 
asked the courageous boy, in surprise at his 
father's fear. His father pleaded with him to save 
himself so that the son might live to revenge the 
father's death if he were slain ; for that if both 
stayed, both were sure to die. * * Then let me 
stay, and do you fly, ' ' said the boy ; and he 
would yield to no argument, though his father 
pictured to him all the terrors of the fight, and 
prayed, for his mother's sake, that he would go. 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. 2^ 

At last, seeing that it would pain him more to re- 
tire than to face death, the father tenderly took 
leave of him, and they swore they would live or 
die together, and entered the battle which was on 
the eve of beginning. 

The boy did mighty acts of valor on the field, 
and so proud was his father to see him strike fire 
with a sword-blow upon the dauphin's crest, that 
he himself was quickened with a redoubled strength 
and beat down Alen9on, Orleans, and Burgundy, 
and at last rescued his son from the ireful Bastard 
of Orleans, who had wounded and was about to 
despatch him. 

But the fortunes of war are ever uncertain, and 
before very long Talbot himself was wounded; 
which seeing, his son, like a hungry lion, began 
rough deeds of rage upon the enemy. Then, 
when he had driven off those who aimed at his 
father' s life, he plunged with sudden fury and rage 
of heart into the clustering battle of the French, 
and, wielding his sword, there met his death. 

Lord Talbot's heart was broken by his son's 
fall, and he accused the shade of antic death, that 
laughed him there to scorn. * * Anon, the Talbots 
shall escape from thy insulting tyranny," were his 
last bitter words; after uttering which, he bid his 
faithful soldiers adieu, and expired in their arms. 

But though the French thus prevailed in the 
battle before Bordeaux, they were not long to 
profit by their victory, for in a brief time the 
opposing forces met again before Angiers, and the 



28 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Frenchmen were promptly put to flight by the 
EngHsh regent. In this action the Maid of Orleans 
and the Duke of York met hand to hand, and 
after a deadly combat La Pucelle was taken by 
the duke, who mockingly bid her try if her evil 
spells could give her liberty, and he heaped upon 
her many more taunts, to which she made bold 
replies, for she felt secure of the supernatural aid 
which had ever before stood her in good stead. 

But in spite of her inspired mission to overcome 
the English and rid France of its foes, Joan of 
Arc was carried a prisoner to the camp of the 
Duke of York in Anjou, and there she showed 
some traits of pride which ill assorted with her 
heavenly calling. For when a certain old shep- 
herd, hearing of her capture, presented himself 
in the camp as her father, which without doubt he 
was, she pretended not to know him, and called 
him a decrepit miser and a base wretch, saying 
she was descended of gentler blood, and that he 
was neither father nor friend of hers. The old 
man was moyed to tears by her unfilial words, 
and said her mother, who was living yet, could 
bear witness that she was their child. The Maid, 
however, would none of him; and thus the pity 
which her virgin adventures and her present 
misfortunes might have awakened in the gallant 
English hearts was turned to aversion. For there 
is nothing meaner than an ambition to appear 
that which we are not, or to build, whether truly 
or falsely, upon birth, that which alone should be 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. 29 

built Upon character. This the duke and his 
soldiers felt, and hence they argued that her life 
had been wicked and vile; for which reason, and 
because he really desired to remove a powerful 
enemy, the duke ordered her instant death. 

The old shepherd, her father, begged her now 
to kneel down and take his blessing; but she would 
not stoop to him, and his benediction was turned 
to a curse, for he cried out, ' ' O burn her, burn 
her; hanging is too good!" upon which the duke 
bid her guards to take her away, for he said she 
had lived too long to fill the world with vicious 
qualities. 

Joan of Arc then burst forth into a passionate 
defence of herself, saying that she had been virtu- 
ous and holy, and chosen from above by inspira- 
tion of celestial grace to work exceeding miracles 
on the earth, and that her maiden blood would 
cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 

But the stern duke was inflexible. He ordered 
her burnt at the stake; yet in deference to her 
maidenhood, told his officers to spare no fagots 
nor pitch, that her torture might be shortened; and 
thus this Maid, who had caused the English more 
loss and injury than the dauphin and all his forces 
beside, was led out to execution amid the curses 
of her captors. 

It was not long after this time that a messenger 
from the dauphin came to the Duke of York, who 
was now the lord regent of France, asking an 
interview for his master, and saying that the states 

3* 



30 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

of Christendom, moved with remorse of the out- 
rageous broils of England and France, earnestly- 
implored a general peace between them. Upon the 
messenger's heels came Charles himself attended 
by his nobles, and to his plea for peace the 
Bishop of Winchester, at the regent's request, 
made answer that King Henry, out of compassion 
towards France, would give consent to ease the 
land of distressful war provided Charles should 
become a liegeman to the English crown and pay- 
tribute, in which case he should be placed as a 
viceroy under King Henry and still enjoy his regal 
dignity. 

The French nobles murmured against these hard 
conditions, and the dauphin said it was well known 
already that he was possessed with more than half 
the French territories and reverenced as their law- 
ful king. Should he, therefore, he asked, detract 
so much from that prerogative as to be called but 
viceroy of the whole ? And he chose rather to 
keep that which he had than, coveting more, be 
cast from the possibility of possessing all. 

This frank rejoinder angered the Duke of York, 
who blamed the dauphin for using intercession to 
obtain a league with him, and then standing thus 
aloof; and he threatened him with incessant wars 
if he did not accept the offered terms. 

Then the French nobles, little relishing a re- 
newal of the warfare in which they had been so 
often worsted, pleaded with the dauphin to agree 
to the truce, saying it was his best policy to save 



KING HENRY VI. — PART I. 31 

his subjects from massacre and ruthless slaughters; 
and, in secret, they whispered that he might easily 
break the compact when his pleasure served. 

As Charles was himself not loath to have the 
fighting done he at last consented on the sole 
condition that the English should claim no interest 
in any of his towns or garrisons. This was ac- 
ceptable to the duke, and he bid the dauphin then 
swear allegiance to his majesty King Henry VI. 
of England, and, as he was a knight, never to 
disobey nor be rebellious to the English crown. 

The dauphin and all his nobles gave tokens of 
fealty, and then retired to dismiss their forces 
and lay down their arms; and thus, for the time, 
was a solemn peace covenanted between the long- 
contending thrones of France and England. 




KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 



AS was the custom in the days of King Henry 
the Sixth, the handsome Marquess of Suf- 
folk, a favorite of the king, was sent into France 
to marry by proxy the princess who had been 
chosen to share the throne of England with the 
young ruler. She was a fair maiden, daughter to 
Reignier, King of Naples, Sicily, and Jerusalem, 
and King Henry had chosen her upon the report 
of Lord Suffolk, who not only praised her beauty, 
but plausibly represented that a match with one 
of the allies of France would confirm the peace 
lately made with the dauphin Charles, and serve 
to hold the Frenchmen in the allegiance they had 
sworn to the English crown. 

In fulfilling his courtly mission, the marquess 
had journeyed to the ancient city of Tours, and 
there, in the presence of many kings and nobles, 
had performed his task and was espoused. Then, 
with the newly-made bride, he started for Eng- 
land, where arriving, he bowed before King Henry 
and delivered up his title in the queen. 

IV.— c 33 



34 • TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

The king gave the Princess Margaret a royal 
welcome and thanked God for sending him, in 
her beauteous face, a world of earthly blessings. 
All the court kneeled down at this, crying, ' ' Long 
live Queen Margaret!" and very graciously she 
thanked them ; whereupon Suffolk handed to the 
lord protector, Duke Humphrey of Gloster, the 
articles of peace contracted by him for eighteen 
months between France and England. The duke 
read aloud the terms of the agreement, which were 
that King Henry should marry the Lady Mar- 
garet and crown her Queen of England before the 
thirtieth of May next ensuing; and that upon her 
nuptials the duchy of Anjou and the county of 
Maine, in France, should be released and delivered 
to her father. 

As he read these unwonted concessions the lord 
protector showed his surprise and emotion at the 
sacrifice; and the king, seeing this, asked sharply, 
' ' How now, uncle ?' ' But the duke was too wary 
to betray himself, and he asked pardon, saying 
some qualm had struck him at the heart, and 
dimmed his eyes so that he could read no more. 
The king then asked his uncle of Winchester to 
read on, which he did, to the effect that the prin- 
cess should be sent to England at King Henry's 
cost, and that she should have no dowry. 

King Henry said that these conditions pleased 
him well; and in recognition of his services in this 
gallant mission to France he bid the Lord Mar- 
quess of Suffolk to kneel down ; whereupon he 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 35 

created him the first Duke of Suffolk and girt him 
with the sword; but as the peace with France was 
now definitely concluded for eighteen months, he 
discharged his cousin of York from being regent 
in the parts of France for all that time. 

When the king and queen were gone out, the 
nobles who had attended them fell to discourse 
about the late concessions to France; for, to such 
as had fought in the wars of the king's father or 
in those of his own reign for the very provinces 
now peacefully ceded back to the enemy, it was 
a cruel blow to see their hard-won conquests so 
diminished. Gloster predicted the final loss of all 
France, and the old Lord Salisbury and his son 
the valiant Earl of Warwick, were equally hope- 
less ; but Cardinal Beaufort, great-uncle of the 
king and the sworn enemy of Gloster, opposed 
their views, and by his insinuating words tried to 
make them appear disloyal to the king. 

After the lord protector, in some choler, had 
retired from the chamber, the cardinal accused him 
of being the enemy of all present and no great 
friend of the king, for that he was the heir-apparent 
to the English crown; and he urged them with his 
malicious arguments to look to it that Gloster' s 
smoothing words bewitch not their hearts ; for 
though the common people favored him, calling 
him '* Humphrey the good Duke of Gloster," yet, 
he said, he feared he would be found a danger- 
ous protector. The Duke of Buckingham, who 
was on the side of the cardinal, asked why the 



36 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

duke should any longer protect the sovereign, he 
being himself of age to govern, and he urged his 
cousin, the Duke of Somerset, to join with him 
and the Duke of Suffolk to quickly hoist Duke 
Humphrey from his seat. 

Then, to show the deep intrigue and suspicion 
which prevailed in the court, when anon the 
haughty cardinal went out, Somerset attacked him 
in turn, and warned the rest to watch him, for his 
insolence was, he said, more intolerable than all 
the princes in the land beside, and if Gloster were 
displaced, the cardinal would be protector; but the 
Duke of Buckingham said that either he or Som- 
erset would be protector despite Duke Humphrey 
or the cardinal. When these last had also left the 
room, the old Lord Salisbury and his son Warwick 
held converse with the Duke of York their ally, 
and they agreed that they would join together for 
the public good, doing what they could to bridle 
and suppress the pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, 
and the ambition of Somerset and Buckingham; 
but cherishing as best they might the deeds of 
Duke Humphrey. After this Salisbury and his 
son went forth, and left York to his own reflections, 
which were upon the wrong done him and his 
house of York by the usurpation of the throne by 
the house of Lancaster; and within himself brood- 
ing deeply, he said, ' ' A day shall come when York 
shall claim his own." Therefore he decided to 
take the part of the Nevils, the family name of 
Salisbury and Warwick, and make a show of love 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 37 

to proud Duke Humphrey ; but when he spied 
advantage, he meant to claim the crown, — for that 
was the golden mark he sought above all else to 
hit, — and raise aloft the milk-white rose, symbol 
of the House of York. 

But if the good Duke Humphrey had enemies 
in the court, he had a greater danger in his own 
household, for his wife, the duchess, was of an 
overweening ambition and had set her heart upon 
ascending the throne of England, to which her 
husband was the heir-apparent. He bid her, again 
and again, to banish the canker of ambitious 
thoughts from her mind, and said that when he 
imagined ill to his virtuous nephew Henry, he 
hoped it might be with his last breathing in this 
mortal world. And when she told him a vain- 
glorious dream of her sitting in the chair where 
kings and queens are crowned, he chid her roundly 
for her presumption, and pointed out all the bless- 
ings she already possessed that should satisfy her 
with her exalted lot. *' And wilt thou still be 
hammering treachery to tumble down thy husband 
and thyself from top of honor to disgrace's feet?" 
he asked, and waited not for an answer, but bid her 
say no more; yet when she showed signs of anger, 
he coaxed her into a compliant mood, losing all 
the advantage his reprimand had gained. 

But just as the matter stood thus, a messenger 
came in saying it was the king's pleasure that the 
lord protector prepare to ride to St. Albans, where 
the king and queen meant to go hawking. The 

4 



38 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

duke said that he would go, and asked his wife to 
ride with him, but she said she would follow 
presently. 

When Duke Humphrey had gone forth, the 
duchess cried to some one concealed, ' * Where 
are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man, we 
are alone;" and instantly Sir John Hume came 
from his hiding-place, saying, ' * Jesu preserve your 
royal majesty." Though the duchess was pleased 
by this title, yet she corrected him and said she 
was but grace, not majesty; whereupon he made 
answer that by the grace of God and his own ad- 
vice her title should be multiplied. He told her 
he had arranged with certain sorcerers named Mar- 
gery Jourdain and Roger Bolingbroke to show her 
highness a spirit raised from under ground that 
should make answer to such questions as should 
be propounded him. The duchess was well satis- 
fied with this, saying she would think upon the 
questions, and when she returned from St. Albans 
the thing should be effected. Then, giving Hume 
a reward, she dismissed him. But Hume was a 
cunning villain, for while appearing to serve the 
duchess, he was really in the pay of Suffolk and 
the cardinal who had planned by means of his 
incriminating follies to drag down the good duke, 
her husband. 

Hence it was that while the duke was still 
absent Hume led his confederates Bolingbroke, 
Margery Jourdain, and Southwell to the garden 
of the duke's house, where they met the duchess 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 39 

who had found means to elude her husband, and 
received from her a warm welcome. Without de- 
lay they performed the ceremonies of their witch- 
craft, and made a circle in which the spirit was to 
appear. As Bolingbroke and Southwell read a 
Latin incantation it began to thunder and lighten, 
then the spirit arose majestically, but showed its 
evil origin by trembling at the name of God when 
it was spoken by Margery Jourdain. " Ask what 
thou wilt," it said; and Bolingbroke questioned 
what should befall the king. The answer was, 
"The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose, but 
him outlive and die a violent death." **What 
fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?" was the next 
question ; and the reply was that he should die 
by water. Then Bolingbroke asked what should 
befall Somerset. "Let him shun castles; safer 
shall he be upon the sandy plains," said the 
spirit ; upon which it bid the conjurors have done, 
for it could hardly endure any more. They then 
commanded it to descend to darkness and the 
burning lake, and, with another peal of thunder 
and lightning, it vanished into the earth. 

But at the same instant of time the Dukes of 
York and Buckingham attended by their guards 
ran hastily into the midst of the group and laid 
violent hands upon the traitors, as they called 
them, arresting at the same time the Duchess of 
Gloster, and gathering up the papers on which 
her questions and the spirit's answers had been 
written. Here was a pretty plot, well chosen for 



4© TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

them to build upon, and after they had read the 
papers they had secured, York said, as the king 
was now in progress towards St. Albans, and 
Duke Humphrey in his company, that the news 
should go thither to him as fast as horse could 
carry it. Buckingham asked that he might be 
chosen to be the post, in hope of the king's re- 
ward ; and, York assenting, he started forward at 
a gallop, while York hastened to tell the Lords 
Salisbury and Warwick of his discovery. 

When Buckingham arrived at St. Albans he 
found the king and queen surrounded by their 
nobles, in converse upon the fortunes of the day at 
hawking; but he could well see that all had not 
been friendly between the cardinal and Suffolk 
and Duke Humphrey, for though their words and 
courtesies were faultless yet their evil intent showed 
through the gloss of speech and mien. 

' ' What tidings with our cousin Buckingham ?' ' 
asked King Henry ; and the travel-worn duke, 
feigning to be loath to deliver his news, said 
that it was such as his heart trembled to unfold. 
Then with affected hesitation he revealed the do- 
ings of the Duchess of Gloster and her confed- 
erates in the duke's garden, and repeated the 
questions and answers between the spirit and the 
duchess. 

This was welcome evidence for the cardinal, and 
he showed no mercy in taunting the unfortunate 
duke. ''And so," said he, "by this means your 
lady was delayed at London ?" But Duke Hum- 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 4 1 

phrey, pained to the soul by these exposures of. 
his wife's folly, bid him gravely not further to 
afflict his heart, for sorrow and grief had van- 
quished all his powers." King Henry, who really 
loved his uncle Gloster, was much affected by the 
evil tidings ; but his queen, plotting and ambi- 
tious, had been haughtily affronted by the duchess, 
and being, as well, jealous of the duke's power in 
the realm, was bitter in her comments. ' ' Behold 
the taint in thy nest, ' ' she said, ' ' and look that 
thou thyself be faultless." Gloster' s reply was 
nobly worded, and he said that if his wife had for- 
got honor and virtue he would banish her from 
his bed and company and give her as a prey to 
law and shame. Then the king said that for the 
night he would stay at St. Albans, but on the 
morrow set out toward London and look thor- 
oughly into this business. 

And thus it fell out, for Eleanor Cobham, wife 
to Gloster, was brought before the king and his 
lords, and duly tried at the bar of justice for her 
treasonous words against the throne. She was 
found guilty and sentenced to be despoiled of her 
honours; and, after three days open penance, to 
live in banishment under the guard of Sir John 
Stanley on the Isle of Man. But the others were 
adjudged to be hung, saving the witch, who was 
burned at the stake in Smithfield. 

The poor Duke of Gloster was bowed down 
with grief, but he said to his wife that he could 
not justify whom the law condemned. **Ah, 



42 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Humphrey, ' ' quoth he, * ' this dishonour in thine 
age will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground," 
and he besought his majesty to let him go, for 
sorrow needed solace and his age ease. 

But a bitter blow was still to come, for the king 
commanded him, ere he left, to give up his staff 
of office, saying he would himself be protector; 
yet he bid the old grief-stricken duke go in peace, 
and told him he was no less beloved than when he 
was protector to his king. 

Gloster then gave the king his staff, as willingly 
resigning the same, he said, as e'er the king's 
father Henry made it his. Then he gave his 
majesty farewell and turned mournfully away. 

The queen and Lord Suffolk were rejoiced at all 
this, for they were cruel hearts and loved nothing 
but power and their own vain selves. They there- 
fore turned joyfully from the heart-broken old 
lord to a combat between two low-born fellows who 
had been set this task by the king to determine 
which was guilty of saying that the Duke of York 
was rightful heir to the throne. 

No further sympathy was expended upon Gloster, 
for the sport ran high and the whole court gave 
itself up to the brutal combat; but the aged duke 
put on a mourning cloak and went forth with his 
servants to watch the coming of his punished 
duchess. And he grieved to think of her tender 
feet torn by the flinty stones, and of the abject 
people gazing on her face with laughter, who erst 
did follow her proud chariot wheels. 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 43 

As he mourned thus, he saw her, in a white sheet, 
with papers pinned upon her back and a taper 
burning in her hand, come in her bare feet along 
the street. His loyal servants offered to take her 
from the sheriff by force; but the duke commanded 
them, for their lives, to let her pass. 

She looked on him sadly and asked if he came 
to see her open shame; but he only besought her 
tenderly to be patient and forget this grief. " Ah, 
Gloster, ' ' groaned she, ' * teach me to forget my- 
self;" and though, by her folly, she had brought 
upon herself this deep affliction, yet she reproached 
him for standing by while she was made a wonder 
to every idle rascal follower; and she predicted, 
because he was mild and blushed not for her shame, 
that the axe of death would shortly hang over him. 

He said that she aimed all awry, for he must 
offend before he could be accused, and that if he 
had twenty times the foes she said he had, all 
these could not procure him any harm so long as 
he was loyal, and true, and crimeless; but he bid 
her rather to sort her heart with patience, for her 
few days of public shame would be quickly worn. 

And now, while they talked thus, a herald from 
the king came up and summoned the duke to his 
majesty's parliament, to be held at Bury the first 
of the next month. 

Gloster' s consent to this measure had not been 
asked, and it was a sore surprise to him thus to 
learn of it; but he said he would be there, and the 
herald departed. Then, imploring Sir John Stan- 



44 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

ley to treat his wife not the worse in that he 
prayed mercy for her, the duke and his servants 
took their way along the street and left her with 
the officers of the law. 

When the time arrived for the assembly of the 
parliament at the Abbey at Bury, the king and all 
his nobles, saving only the Duke of Somerset and 
Duke Humphrey of Gloster, were promptly in at- 
tendance; and they marvelled much that Gloster was 
not punctual, for, said the king, it was not his wont 
to be the hindmost man. But while they awaited 
him, those who were secretly his enemies endeav- 
ored to poison the mind of the king against him 
by reciting suspicious looks and acts. The queen 
said he bore himself of late with an unwonted 
majesty and insolence, though but a little space 
before he was mild and affable; and she warned 
the king to note that he was near him in descent, 
and that therefore it was impolitic that he be allowed 
to come about his royal person, or be admitted to 
the council. She excused herself for her seeming 
enmity, and said it was due to the reverent care she 
bore her lord. Then she appealed to the Lords 
Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, and the cardinal 
to reprove her allegation or else to support it. 
This latter they gladly did, each in turn bringing 
forward some plausible accusation which none 
could deny, false though it might be; till the king, 
pained to the heart yet impotent in these crafty 
hands, thanked them for the care they had for him, 
but spoke frankly forth his belief that his kinsman 



KING HENRY VI, — PART II. 45 

Gloster was as innocent from meaning treason to 
his royal person as is the sucking lamb or harm- 
less dove. For he said the duke was virtuous, 
mild, and too true to dream of evil or to work his 
downfall. The queen would have questioned all 
this; but at the moment the Duke of Somerset 
approached the presence crying all health unto 
his gracious sovereign. King Henry gave him 
cordial welcome and asked for news from France; 
which with a bowed head his lordship gave, for all 
the king's interest in the territories of France was 
utterly bereft him, and all was lost. ' ' Cold news. 
Lord Somerset : but God's will be done," said 
the pious king; and further tidings of the disaster 
were cut short by the entrance of Gloster, who 
humbly asked pardon that he had stayed so long. 
"Nay, Gloster," said Suffolk, stepping forth, 
* * know that thou art come too soon. I do arrest 
thee of high treason." 

The good Duke Humphrey was so secure in 
his own sense of innocence that he was not alarmed 
greatly at this turn of fortune, and, turning towards 
King Henry, he said that the purest spring is not 
so free from mud as he was clear from treason. 
Then he asked who could accuse him and wherein 
he was guilty. The Duke of York said that it was 
thought he had taken bribes from France. ' ' Is it 
but thought so?" asked Gloster, and he said, so 
help him God, as he had watched night by night 
in studying good for England, he had not hoarded 
any groat to his own use, but rather had dispensed 



46 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

many a pound of his own proper store to the gar- 
risons. 

Seeing that little could be gained for their cause 
by such unfounded accusations as this, Suffolk came 
to the rescue of his confederates York and the 
cardinal, and brushing them aside said that such 
faults were quickly answered, but that mightier 
crimes were laid to the duke's charge whereof he 
could not so easily purge himself, and for these he 
arrested him in the king's name and there com- 
mitted him to the lord cardinal to keep until the 
time of his trial. 

The weak king, powerless to undo this great 
wrong, said he hoped the lord of Gloster would 
clear himself from all suspicions, for that his con- 
science told him he was innocent; yet he made no 
effort to save his good uncle from the doom which 
his enemies had plotted against him, and let them 
carry him away from his presence with no response 
to his noble warning: "Ah, thus King Henry 
throws away his crutch before his legs be firm to 
bear his body !" and again he sighed: "Ah, that 
my fear were false, for, good King Henry, I fear 
thy decay ! ' ' 

When Gloster was gone the king could no 
longer conceal his grief, and, rising, he bid his lords 
do what in their wisdom seemed best. "What ! 
will your highness leave the parliament ?' ' asked 
the queen, and Henry answered with deep sadness 
that his body was round engirt with misery. 
* ' Ah, uncle Humphrey ! ' ' exclaimed he, "I see 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 47 

the map of honour, truth, and loyalty in thy face!" 
and he bewailed his hard lot with sad unhelpful 
tears and with dimmed eyes that looked after the 
old duke and could not do him good, so mighty were 
his vowed enemies. Then this ruler more feeble 
than his meanest subject went forth from the parlia- 
ment, and left the fate of his beloved uncle and wise 
councillor in the hands of his foes, who speedily 
condemned him to death, the cardinal, his jailer, 
offering to provide an executioner if the rest would 
consent. The Duke of Suffolk, the queen, and the 
Duke of York were eager for it, and reached forth 
their hands to the cardinal in sign of agreement. 

But they were interrupted in their plotting by 
the entrance of a messenger from Ireland, who 
brought news that the rebels there were up and 
had put the Englishmen to the sword. He begged 
them to send succours and stop the rage before the 
wound grew incurable. The lords knew that 
such a breach needed a quick remedy, and the 
cardinal asked the Duke of York to try his for- 
tune in leading an army thither, which York readily 
assented to do, with the king's leave. "Why, 
our authority is his consent, ' ' said Suffolk, and 
York was content to go provided they furnished 
him with soldiers at Bristol within fourteen days, 
for there he said he would ship for Ireland. 

Upon this agreement all went forth, leaving 
York to his own reflections. "Well, nobles," 
thought he, with inward satisfaction, "'twas poli- 
ticly done to send me packing with a host of men. 



48 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

I fear me you but warm the starved snake, who, 
being cherished in your breasts, will sting your 
hearts!" For it was men that this ambitious lord 
most lacked, and now he would have a host of them; 
and while in Ireland he was nourishing a mighty 
band, he resolved to stir up a black storm in Eng- 
land, which should not cease to rage until he wore 
the golden circlet of kingship on his head. To this 
end he had seduced a headstrong Kentishman 
named John Cade to make commotions under the 
title of John Mortimer, the dead heir to the crown, 
whom in all things he resembled; and by this means 
the duke meant to test the mind of the commons 
and perceive how they affected the house of York; 
and if Cade throve in his rebellion, then the duke 
planned to come from Ireland with all his strength 
and reap the harvest sowed by this rascal ; for 
Humphrey being dead and Henry put apart, the 
next heir to the throne was himself 

Following out this plan, York in due time posted 
for Ireland, leaving the execution of the plot 
against Duke Humphrey to his fellow-conspirators, 
and these were not slow to see it performed. 

Gloster had been imprisoned at Bury, and thither 
Lord Suffolk sent two of his followers secretly to 
put him to death. This they speedily did, and when 
the grim deed was done they ran in very dread 
to announce it to Suffolk. "Why, that's well 
said," quoth the heartless duke, and he bid them 
go to his house, where he would reward them anon, 
for the king and all his peers were at hand and he 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 49 

must first welcome them. * ' Have you laid fair the 
bed, and are all things well ?' ' he asked the mur- 
derers as they went out, and they answered yes, 
and were gone. 

When the king and queen with their train ar- 
rived at Bury, King Henry's first act was to send 
one to call his uncle of Gloster to his presence, for 
that he intended to try him that day. Suffolk said 
he v/ould call him presently; and after he had gone 
out for the purpose, the king bid his lords to take 
their places, and he prayed them all to proceed 
no straiter against his uncle Gloster than from 
true evidence he were proven culpable. The dis- 
sembling queen said God forbid that any malice 
should prevail, and for this the too-confiding 
Henry thanked her, saying her words contented 
him much. 

In a little space Suffolk came back without the 
duke, trembling and looking very pale. The 
king asked in some alarm, *' Where is our uncle? 
What's the matter, Suffolk?" and the crafty duke, 
who could ill conceal his horror of the sight he 
had seen, said, * ' Dead in his bed, my lord ; Glos- 
ter is dead !" The queen, half in dread and half 
for concealment of her part in the murder, cried, 
" Marry, God forefend !" and the wicked cardinal 
murmured, "God's secret judgment!" But the 
king had swooned at the news, and Queen Mar- 
garet flew to his side crying he was dead and im- 
ploring the lords for help. '* Rear up his body," 
said Suffolk, and presently the king revived, mut- 
IV. — c d 1; 



5© TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

tering as he came back to consciousness, ' ' O heav- 
enly God!" " How fares my gracious lord?" ten- 
derly asked the queen, and Lord Suffolk bid him 
take comfort. * ' What !' ' exclaimed the king, 
' ' doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me ? Hide not 
thy poison with sugared words. Lay not thy hands 
on me ; their touch affrights me as a serpent's 
sting!" and he recoiled from the duke's presence 
as if he were some loathsome beast. The queen 
chid King Henry for rating Suffolk thus, and said 
that he lamented the duke's death, though he 
was his enemy; and she herself affected to weep 
tears of pity for his taking off. From her, too, 
the king then turned away, and this smote her con- 
science, for the planning of an evil deed too often 
leaves out of sight the awful twinge of conscience, 
a worse punishment than any devised by man, and 
this the queen now deeply felt. As she pleaded 
with the king to give her again his love and con- 
fidence, the noise of a murmuring crowd was 
heard without doors, and the Earls of Warwick 
and Salisbury presently broke into the room, cry- 
ing that the commons had heard report that the 
good Duke Humphrey had been traitorously mur- 
dered by Suffolk and Cardinal Beaufort's means, 
and like an angry hive of bees had come thither 
for their leader. "That he is dead," said the 
king, *'is too true; but how he died, God knows, 
not Henry, ' ' and he told them to enter his cham- 
ber and view the duke's corpse and then to com- 
ment on his sudden death. 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 51 

Warwick bid Salisbury stay with the rude multi- 
tude till he returned, and then went into the inner 
room where Duke Humphrey's body lay. Im- 
mediately he threw open the folding doors, and 
called upon the king to come thither and view the 
body; and he said, as surely as his soul intended 
to live above, he did believe that violent hands 
were laid upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 
Suffolk asked what instance he could give of this. 
**See," said Warwick, "how the blood is settled 
in his face, and he stares full ghastly like a stran- 
gled man. His hair is upreared, his nostrils 
stretched and struggling, and his hands abroad 
displayed, as one who grasped and tugged for 
life." Suffolk, with well-feigned innocence, asked 
who should do the duke to death, for he said 
himself and Beaufort had him in protection, and 
he hoped they were no murderers. 

Egged on by the queen, these two nobles at last 
drew their swords and would have fallen upon each 
other over the good duke's corpse; but the voices 
of the crowd without grew clamorous, and Salis- 
bury at last burst in holding the door against the 
mob. ' * Sirs, ' ' he cried to them, ' ' stand back ; 
the king shall know your mind ;' ' then turning to 
the king, he said the commons sent word by him 
that unless Lord Suffolk straight were put to death 
or banished from England they would tear him by 
violence from the palace and torture him with a 
grievous, lingering death. 

Lord Suffolk pretended to think this was the 



52 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

invention of his enemies Warwick and Salisbury; 
but the king bid the latter go and tell the tumult- 
ous commons that he thanked them for their 
loving care, and even if he had not been asked by 
them, he purposed to do as they entreated, for he 
said his thoughts hourly prophesied mischance to 
his state through Suffolk, and therefore he swore 
he should breathe infection into that air but three 
days longer on pain of death. 

The queen, who was secretly in love with Suf- 
folk, pleaded for him with all her might; but King 
Henry said she would thus only add increase to his 
wrath; and turning to the duke, his majesty firmly 
repeated the sentence; whereupon, calling War- 
wick to his side, he passed out, leaving the con- 
spirators in dismay at his sudden show of strength. 

The queen was smitten with grief at the loss of 
her gallant. She heaped tender words upon him, 
and in her passionate regret even kissed his hand; 
but the mandate of the king was inexorable, and 
at last they parted with many soft consolations, 
which, had the king suspected, he had long ago 
forbid his court to this deceitful and criminal lord. 
As they were about to go their several ways, 
Vaux, a servant of the royal household, passed 
by, and the queen asked him whither he went 
so fast. He said his errand was to signify to 
the king that Cardinal Beaufort was at the point 
of death, for suddenly a grievous sickness had 
overtaken him that made him stare and gasp and 
catch the air, blaspheming God and cursing men, 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 53 

and sometimes he talked as if Duke Humphrey's 
ghost were at his bedside ; sometimes called the 
king and whispered to his pillow, thinking it was 
his majesty, the secrets of his overcharged soul. 

Vaux hurried on and the unlawful lovers parted, 
and anon came forward the king, Salisbury, War- 
wick, and others, who went in to the cardinal. 
They found him tossing in great agony and raving 
about the death of Duke Humphrey. The king 
prayed silently for the soul of the wretched prelate, 
and the rest, with few words, watched his tortured 
spirit pass. ' ' So bad a death argues a monstrous 
life," said Warwick; but the pious king bid them 
forbear to judge, for he said all were sinners; and 
he commanded the attendants to close up the car- 
dinal's eyes and draw the curtains close; then, with 
the rest, he passed out to meditation. 

The exiled Duke of Suffolk, upon parting with 
the queen, had assumed a disguise and started for 
France; and he was well on his journey across the 
channel, when the boat in which he sailed was 
captured by pirates and all its passengers made 
prisoners. The pirates bore them speedily back 
to the sea-shore near Dover, and there landed 
them that they might secure ransom for their 
release. The Duke of Suffolk fell to the portion 
of one Walter Whitmore, who, having lost an 
eye in boarding the ship, desired to take instant 
revenge upon his prisoner; but the captain of the 
pirate crew urged him to accept ransom, and the 
duke bid him look on his George, an insignia of 

5* 



54 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

his nobility, and to rate him at what he would, 
and it should be paid. 

' ' And so am I a gentleman, and my name is 
Walter Whitmore," said the pirate; at which the 
duke started and grew pale, for he remembered 
the prophecy of the spirit to the Duchess of 
Gloster, that he should die by water, and as the 
name Walter in that day was pronounced Water, 
he feared that it was his doom to die by this 
pirate's hand. 

And thus, indeed, it proved, for when, later, the 
captain and his fellows learned that it was the hated 
Duke of Suffolk whom they had captured, there 
was no plea that could prevent them from taking 
his life; and with a savage pleasure, born of revenge 
and of the popular enmity towards this same lord, 
they bore him to their long-boat's side and struck 
off his head, Whitmore crying, ' * There let his 
head and lifeless body lie until the queen bury it !' ' 
But when the pirates had gone back to their ship, 
the prisoners who had been ransomed took up 
Suffolk's body and bore it to London to the queen, 
who, without ceasing, mourned over and caressed 
the head of her slain lover. 

Just at the same time came news to the king that 
the rebels were up in Southwark, and that there 
a certain Jack Cade proclaimed himself Lord Mor- 
timer, descended from the Duke of Clarence, and 
called King Henry a usurper. Cade's army was a 
ragged multitude of hinds and peasants; but hav- 
ing slain Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother, 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 55 

who were sent against them, they had taken new 
courage to proceed in their violence. 

The Duke of Buckingham urged the king to 
retire to KiUingworth until a power were raised to 
put the mob down, and this he speedily did, while 
Buckingham and the old Lord Clifford went forth 
to quell the riot. They appealed to the commons 
in the king's name and called upon them to show 
their loyalty by abandoning Cade, and with the 
unsteady impulse of a mob the people threw up 
their hats and cried, '' God save the king!" But 
when Cade, in his turn, addressed them, they 
shouted, "We'll follow Cade!" until, aroused to 
a new allegiance by old Clifford's promise that, 
with King Henry at their head, they should re- 
conquer France, they shouted, '* A Clifford! we'll 
follow the king and Clifford!" and thus Cade, 
being finally abandoned by his followers, was left 
to his own devices, and secretly fled away. 

Buckingham and Clifford then led the multi- 
tude, each man with a halter about his neck in sign 
of submission, to KiUingworth Castle, and there 
the king came forth and thanked them for their 
loyalty, granting pardon to all and dismissing them 
to their several counties. 

But just as this danger was averted another 
threatened the unfortunate king, for tidings were 
brought him now that the Duke of York was newly 
come from Ireland with a puissant and mighty 
power of Gallowglasses and stout Kernes, rude 
warriors of that country, and that he was marching 



56 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

towards London in proud array, but still proclaim- 
ing as he went along that his aim was only to 
remove from the king the Duke of Somerset, whom 
he termed a traitor. 

King Henry in all haste sent the Duke of 
Buckingham forward to meet York, and to assure 
him that he had committed the Duke of Somerset 
to the Tower, which he did immediately; though 
he secretly told Somerset that he should be released 
when York had dismissed his army. 

But when Lord Buckingham met the Duke of 
York and gave him the king's message, the am- 
bitious heir to the throne was exceedingly angry 
thus to be robbed of an excuse for his invasion. 
He nevertheless disbanded his army, and went 
forward to London in all haste with Bucking- 
ham. 

But, as fate would have it, as York and Buck- 
ingham entered the king's presence. Queen Mar- 
garet came thither with Lord Somerset, and King 
Henry, alarmed that the deadly foes should thus 
meet and ashamed that his deceit should be dis- 
covered, sent Buckingham to warn the queen and 
bid her hide Somerset from his enemy. This she 
haughtily refused to do; and when Lord York 
saw the hated duke at liberty and in her company, 
he flew into a mighty rage and loosed his long- 
imprisoned thoughts. ''False king," he cried, 
' ' why hast thou broken faith with me ?' and he 
heaped all manner of reproaches upon his majesty, 
saying at last that he should rule no more over 



KING HENRY VI. — PART II. 57 

him, whom heaven had created, rather, to be the 
ruler of the king. 

Upon this bold outburst Somerset arrested the 
duke on the charge of capital treason against the 
king and crown, and commanded him to kneel 
for grace. But York defied him, and sent for his 
sons to be his bail. Then the queen called for 
Clifford, the trusty servant of the king, and as 
he and his courageous son came in at one side, 
Edward and Richard Plantagenet, sons of the Duke 
of York, appeared at the other. There was much 
contention between the opposing leaders, and Clif- 
ford would have arrested the duke; but he was 
prevented by the show of force against him, and 
presently this was increased by the arrival of the 
Lords Warwick and Salisbury, who were allies of 
the house of York. The king asked Warwick if 
he had forgot to bow, and chided the old Lord 
SaUsbury for his show of disloyalty, and he bid 
him in duty to bend the knee to him ; but the 
venerable earl said he had considered with himself 
the title of Lord York, and in his conscience re-, 
puted his grace to be the rightful heir to Eng- 
land's throne. " Hast thou not sworn allegiance 
to me?" asked King Henry, and the earl answered 
that he had; but on doing it he had been mistaken; 
whereupon the king called for Buckingham and 
bid him arm himself. York said he might call all 
the friends he had, but he was resolved for death 
or dignity; upon which the several factions went 
forth to prepare for the struggle for supremacy. 



58 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

This took place at St. Albans, where a battle 
was fought in which Clifford, who led the king's 
forces, was slain by York, and Somerset by the 
duke's son Richard. The king and queen, thus 
forced to fly, retreated to London ; but York 
and his son and the Earl of Warwick held the 
field. ' ' Who can report of Salisbury ?' ' asked 
the Duke of York, when the fighting had ceased. 
' * This happy day is not itself, nor have we won 
one foot, if Salisbury is lost." Richard said he 
had helped him to his horse three times that day, 
and each time persuaded him from any further 
act ; but still he had met him where the most 
danger was, and like rich hangings in a homely 
house, so, he said, was this valiant lord's will in his 
old feeble body. 

But just at this same moment the old Lord Sal- 
isbury came up, and all hailed him with glad hearts, 
for kindly age and a good conscience had won him 
the veneration of all his peers. 

It was his counsel that the king and his flying 
forces should be followed to London ; and this sage 
advice, seconded by Warwick's, was accepted by 
the Duke of York without delay, and all went 
forward, hoping that more such glorious days as 
this victory of St. Albans were in store for them. 




KING HENRY VI.— PART HI. 



AW '^'AK^V— .VI i%A-^\\ OV.YA 



KING HENRY VL— PART III. 



AFTER the battle of St. Albans, in which the 
Duke of York overcame the forces of King 
Henry the Sixth, the victorious duke pursued the 
king to London; for, through his descent from the 
Duke of Clarence, third son of Edward the Third, 
he laid claim to the throne of England, and meant 
to follow up his victory by dethroning the Lancas- 
trian king. 

By some secret means, the duke and his fellow 
nobles, wearing in their hats the white rose of the 
house of York, gained an entrance to the Parlia- 
ment House, which was prepared for the reception 
of the king and queen, who were about to assemble 
the parliament. There, surrounded by the leaders 
of his army, the duke was persuaded by the Earl 
of Warwick, a bold and sagacious warrior, to as- 
sume the throne in very deed; for he urged him to 
possess the regal chair of the king in the midst of 
the Parliament House and to hold it even against 
Henry himself. 

This the duke did, and at the same moment a 

59 



6o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

flourish of trumpets announced the approach of 
the king, who entered at the head of his courtiers, 
all wearing in their hats, as did also King Henry, 
the red rose of the house of Lancaster. 

' ' My lords, ' ' cried the king, astonished at the 
duke's audacity, *' look where the sturdy rebel sits, 
even in the chair of state! Belike he means to 
aspire to the crown and reign as king." Then he 
urged those about him, who had suffered in the 
wars stirred up by the duke, to seek their revenge, 
and they would have openly defied the duke but 
that the king's timid heart would not wait upon 
his impulsive words. He commanded York to 
descend from his throne and kneel for grace and 
mercy at his feet; but the duke said he was sov- 
ereign, and made no motion to resign the place, 
whereupon the opposing nobles fell to words over 
the respective rights of their leaders, and much 
blood was like to have been shed; but Warwick 
at last demanded of King Henry to prove his title 
to the throne; and this the king started to do, 
saying that Henry the Fourth got the crown by 
conquest. *' It was by rebelHon against his king!" 
quoth York; and so true was this that King Henry 
was conscience-smitten and for a moment could 
not proceed; for the fact was that there was little 
to choose in justice between the claims of the two 
houses. 

But the powerful warriors, Clifford and North- 
umberland, came to the support of their king, and 
this revived his heart; but his momentary bold- 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 6l 

ness stood him in little stead, for the Earl of 
Warwick instantly stamped his foot and brought 
in a troop of his soldiers. Such a forcible argu- 
ment as this was not to be answered save by sub- 
mission; and Henry's unsteady purpose gave way. 
' * Let me reign as king for my lifetime, ' ' pleaded 
he; and York said if he would confirm the crown 
to him and to his heirs he should reign in quiet 
while he lived. Henry was perforce content; but 
his acquiescence mightily displeased his loyal fol- 
lowers, who taxed him with doing a grievous wrong 
against the prince his son, and freely expressed 
their repugnance in indignant words. 

Thus driven from his cause, the Lords Northum- 
berland, Clifford, and Westmoreland went forth, 
leaving the king alone with his enemies. Upon 
this Henry sighed heavily ; but, he told War- 
wick, not for himself, but for his son ; and yet, 
he said, be it as it may; and he agreed to entail 
the crown to York and to his heirs forever on con- 
dition that he should remain king during his life, 
and that York neither by treason nor hostility 
should seek to put him down and reign himself. 
The duke willingly took this oath, and then rose 
from the throne ; whereupon Warwick cried, 
'' Long live King Henry!" and bid York embrace 
him. 

Upon this the company of lords parted, York 
going to his castle in the north; Warwick promising 
to keep London with his soldiers; Norfolk going 
to his dukedom; and Montague to sea. ''And 

6 



6? TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

I," said the mournful king, "will go with grief 
and sorrow to the court. ' ' 

But as King Henry was about to leave, the 
queen, greatly angered by the news she had heard 
of the king's shame, came sweeping in with the 
prince, scolding and storming at her husband's 
cowardice and unnatural conduct towards his son. 
Henry asked pardon of both, saying the Earl of 
Warwick and the duke had enforced him, whereat 
she grew wilder than ever, charging him with pre- 
ferring his life before his honor; and she said that, 
seeing this was so, she there divorced herself both 
from his table and his bed until the act of parlia- 
ment whereby her son was disinherited should be 
repealed. *'The northern lords," she railed on, 
' ' that have forsworn thy colours will follow mine if 
once they see them spread; and spread they shall 
be, to thy foul disgrace, and utter ruin of the house 
of York!" Then she left him, carrying her son, 
the prince, with her, to join her army, which was 
already in the field. 

Having succeeded thus far in his ambitious 
designs, the Duke of York now resolved to be 
king at once, or die. He proceeded to his seat. 
Sandal Castle in Yorkshire, and from there pre- 
pared to put in execution his secret designs against 
the throne. 

When he was in the midst of this work, unex- 
pected news reached him of the approach of the 
queen with all the northern lords, whose intent 
was to besiege him in his castle. The queen had in 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 63 

her army, said the messenger, nearly twenty thou- 
sand men: while, to oppose this force, the duke 
could muster only five thousand; yet, stout-hearted 
as he ever was, he decided to meet the queen in 
the field rather than suffer a siege, and to this 
he was urged by his sons Edward and Richard 
and his uncles Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, 
the latter of whom arrived just in time to support 
him at his need. 

The queen's army advanced so quickly and its 
arrival was so unlooked for, that the youngest son 
of York, the little Earl of Rutland, with his tutor, 
was overtaken by it in the plains near the castle, 
and captured by Lord Clifford and a band of his 
soldiers. Clifford, whose father had been slain 
by York at St. Albans, was rejoiced to find this 
opportunity for revenge, and he bid the boy's 
tutor to go, for his priesthood, he said, saved his 
life; but for the brat of the accursed duke, as he 
called the trembling lad, he was doomed to die. 

The soldiers bore the tutor away pleading for 
the boy's life; and when CHfford turned to the 
young Rutland he thought him dead, so much had 
fear overcome him. The lad opened his eyes at 
the touch of the knight's mailed hand and spoke 
his dread in broken words. '' Sweet Clifford," he 
said, * ' hear me speak before I die. I am too mean 
a subject for thy wrath; be thou revenged on men, 
and let me live." 

But it was in vain he asked for mercy, for the 
grim lord could not forget his father's death, and 



64 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

he said the Hves of all York's sons were not suffi- 
cient to satiate his hatred, for the sight of any of 
that house was as a fury to torment his soul; and 
he vowed he should live in hell until he rooted out 
the accursed line and left not a single one alive. 
Then he lifted his hand, with a gleaming dagger 
in it, high above the boy's head, and would have 
slain him, but Rutland pleaded that he might 
pray before he took his death; and he prayed to 
the cruel lord himself. ' * Sweet Clifford, to thee 
I pray; pity me!" Clifford was unmoved, and 
said he should have such pity as his rapier point 
afforded. ' ' I never did thee harm ; why wilt thou 
slay me ?" asked the boy. "Thy father hath," 
quoth the grim warrior. "But 'twas ere I was 
born," said Rutland; and then he appealed to 
Clifford in the name of his own son, for whose 
sake he begged pity; and finally said that when 
he gave occasion for offence, then let him die, for 
now there was no cause for killing him, "No 
cause?" muttered Clifford, "thy father slew my 
father; therefore die!" and he stabbed the inno- 
cent boy to death, glorying in his deed and ut- 
tering a warning to Plantagenet, as he called 
the Duke of York, to beware, for that his son's 
blood should rust upon his weapon till York's 
blood, congealed with it, should make him wipe 
both off. 

While this cruel work was being done upon the 
plain, the army of the queen advanced towards 
the castle, and was met by the forces of York, 



KING HENRY VI. — PART HI. 65 

who, in spite of his weakness, had sallied forth to 
meet his powerful foe. Outnumbered as he was, 
it did not take long for the queen's army to van- 
quish his followers, and both of his uncles were 
speedily killed, while he himself, the hero of num- 
berless battles and combats, was made faint and 
weak by his superhuman exertions. He could not 
fly with his own fleeing hosts, so exhausted was 
he; and he stood at bay awaiting the enemy, whose 
trumpets he heard approaching. 

Presently the queen, with the Lords Cliflbrd and 
Northumberland, discovered where he lay, and 
the latter, rejoiced at taking such a captive, bid 
him yield to their mercy, while Clifford threatened 
him with instant death. York defied them, impo- 
tent as he was, and Lord Cliflbrd, impatient to 
despatch him, drew his sword; but the queen held 
his hand, and bid the two lords to lift the duke 
to his feet and carry him away a prisoner. They 
then asked what her grace would have done unto 
him; and the unpitying queen bid them stand 
him on a hillock; which being done, she railed 
and mocked at the humbled duke with a vicious, 
spite, showing him at last a handkerchief stained 
with Rutland's blood, and oflering it to quench 
the tears which might flow at thought of his dear 
son's death. She prayed him to grieve to make 
her merry, and in all respects showed an un- 
womanly joy at the poor duke's downfall, till at 
last because he was silent under the taunts, she 
cried, *'York cannot speak unless he wears a 
IV. — e 6* 



66 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

crown;" and she called for a crown of paper, which 
she set upon his head, saying he now looked like 
a king indeed. 

The duke then burst forth in manly indignation 
against this she-wolf of France, and he said 
women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible, but 
she was stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless, 
and ten times more inhuman than tigers of Hyr- 
cania. "See, ruthless queen," he cried, "you 
dipped this cloth in the blood of my sweet boy, 
and I wash the blood away with tears;" then he 
handed back the napkin and bid her go boast of 
this; for, said he, if she told the heavy story right, 
the hearers would shed tears, yea, even his foes 
would weep, and say it was a piteous deed. He 
turned then to Cliflbrd, and prayed him to take 
him from the world, for he saw that his time was 
come, and he was weary of living. 

The Duke of Northumberland was moved by 
York's plight and his pathetic words, and said that 
had he been slaughterman to all his kin he could 
not, for his life, but weep for him; but the hard- 
hearted queen chid him for his weakness, and 
Cliflbrd, fearing delay might cheat him of his 
victim, cried, "Here's for my oath, here's for 
my father's death!" and he stabbed the duke to 
death. Then the queen, revengeful beyond her 
sex, stepped close to the fallen lord and also 
thrust her dagger in his side, saying as she did so, 
" And here's to right our gentle-hearted king." 

Such was the end of the ambitious Plantagenet, 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 67 

and the queen bid her soldiers hew off his head 
and set it on York gates, so that its duke might 
overlook his town. 

In the mean time, Edward and Richard, the 
sons of the duke, had retreated with their soldiers 
to Mortimer's Cross, and there awaited news from 
their father. At last a messenger reached them 
whose heavy looks boded no good, and he forth- 
with told the brothers of their father's death. 
They were stricken sorely with grief, for their prop 
was gone, he who was the flower of Europe for his 
chivalry, and they knew not where to turn in the 
extremity of their woe for direction and succour. 

But presently the Earl of Warwick marched up 
to join them, and to him they poured out their 
sorrow. He had already heard the dread tidings, 
and was as deep in grief as themselves. He said 
he had come to tell them what had since befallen, 
which was, that, after the battle, word was instantly 
brought him of the duke's defeat; and he, being 
then in London as keeper of the king, mustered 
his soldiers, gathered flocks of friends, and, as he 
thought, very well appointed, marched towards St. 
Albans to intercept the queen, bearing the king 
along in his behalf He met the queen at St. Al- 
bans and joined battle with her, both sides fiercely 
fighting; but whether it was the coldness of the 
king that robbed his soldiers of courage, or fear 
of Clifford, who thundered ' ' Blood and death !' ' 
he could not judge ; but, he acknowledged, with 
shame mantling his swarthy cheeks, that he had 



6^: TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

been defeated, and said that the king, being thus 
released, had fled to the queen, while he, with Lord 
George, their brother, and Norfolk, had come 
post-haste to join with them. 

Edward, now the Duke of York, asked where 
was the Duke of Norfolk, and when George had 
come from Burgundy to England ? Warwick told 
him that the duke was some six miles off with his 
soldiers, and that George, his brother, had lately 
been sent from his kind aunt of Burgundy with 
aid of soldiers for the present war. 

Richard, who was of a misshapen stature and of 
a mind alike crooked in its courses, would not let 
the valiant Warwick off without some hinted re- 
proaches at his defeat. He said he had often heard 
his praises in pursuit, but never till now his scandal 
of retreat. " Nor now my scandal," said the bold 
earl ; * ' for you shall know this strong right hand 
of mine can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's 
head, were he as famous in war as he is famed for 
mildness, peace, and prayer." Richard said he 
knew it well; but it was the love he bore Lord 
Warwick's glories that made him speak. Then he 
asked what was to be done. Warwick said it was 
to determine this he had come to seek them out ; 
and he therefore unfolded to them his plans. The 
proud, insulting queen, with Clifford and haughty 
Northumberland, had, he said, wrought the easy- 
melting king like wax. He had sworn consent to 
York's succession, and his oath was enrolled in the 
parliament; but now all the crew were gone to Lon- 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 69 

don to frustrate both this oath and what beside 
might make against the house of Lancaster. He 
said, moreover, that their power was thirty thousand 
strong; but if the help of himself and Norfolk, with 
all the friends whom Edward could command 
amongst the loving Welsh, would amount to five- 
and- twenty thousand, why, via ! to London; for 
once again they might bestride their foaming steeds 
and once again cry, Charge! but never again turn 
back and fly. ' * Now methinks I hear great War- 
wick speak," said Richard; and Edward said he 
would lean on the earl's shoulder, and when- he 
failed Edward must fall, which heaven forefend! 
Warwick then promised this young Earl of March 
who had suddenly become the Duke of York, that 
the next degree should be England's royal throne, 
for he should be proclaimed king of England in 
every borough as they passed along. 

But as these hopeful warriors were about to set 
forth, a messenger entered in hot haste with news 
from the Duke of Norfolk. He said that the 
queen was coming with a puissant host, and that 
the duke craved their company for speedy counsel. 
This quite assorted with their setting forth, and 
they went at once to the duke's camp. 

Here they all resolved to march forward to meet 
the enemy, and presently they overtook the king 
and queen with their forces under the walls of 
York. Edward greeted the king with a bold 
demand that he should kneel for grace and set the 
crown upon his head, or abide the fortunes of the 



70 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

field; and the queen, not trusting her faint-hearted 
consort to make reply, bid the duke go rate his 
minions, not his king. "I am his king," said 
Edward, proudly, ' ' and he should bow his knee. 
I was adopted heir by his consent, since when his 
oath is broken, for he has by new act of parliament 
blotted out my name and put his own son's in." 
Hereupon insulting and bitter words passed be- 
tween Richard and Clifford; and Warwick boldly 
put the question to Henry whether he would or 
would not yield the crown. The queen, hearing 
Warwick's voice, scornfully laughed at him for his 
flight at St. Albans; but he said that then it was 
his turn to fly, and now it was hers. Richard grew 
impatient of this idle raillery and called for the 
fight, and King Henry, hoping to the last to stop 
the bloodshed among his beloved subjects, begged 
the contending nobles to hear him speak. * * Defy 
them, or else hold close thy lips," commanded the 
queen, whereat the king was warmed to assert his 
privilege; but Cliflbrd said the wound that bred 
the meeting could not be cured by words, and bid 
the king be still. Thus exchanging reproaches 
and evil names, the lords wrangled on until Edward, 
weary of the bloodless fray, defied the queen and 
her nobles; and, since they denied the gentle king 
the chance to speak, commanded his trumpets to 
sound the charge. Then the queen, alarmed at 
last, cried, *' Stay, Edward!" but he would not heed 
her, and went forth to lead his army to the fight. 
With varying success the day sped on, now the 



KING HENRY VI. — PART HI. 7 1 

Yorkists, now the Lancastrians, seeming to have 
the advantage; but at last, when all appeared to 
be lost to the house of York, with one superhuman 
effort, overcoming physical as well as mental dis- 
tress, the noble Warwick cheered the despairing 
brothers, rallied their flying forces, and carried the 
battle on to victory. 

The king and queen, with Exeter and other 
lords, took horse and posted towards Berwick; but 
Clifford was sore wounded and lay bleeding upon 
the field. In the midst of his murmured woes he 
fainted and lay like death, so that when Edward 
and Richard, with their brother George, and 
Montague and Warwick, came near the spot where 
he lay, they did not distinguish him among the 
numberless slain. 

But as they spoke joyfully together of the vic- 
tory, Edward the while ordering some troops to 
pursue the bloody-minded queen, they wondered 
if Clifford had escaped with her, when a deep groan 
was heard near them, and looking down, they saw 
that cruel lord expiring at their feet. 

With quick thought of revenge the Earl of 
Warwick suggested that the head of the Duke of 
York should be fetched down from the gates of 
York and Clifford' s placed there instead. Edward 
then commanded that he should be brought forth 
from among the heap of slain, and vowed that death 
should stop his ill-boding tongue forever. They 
commanded the wounded lord to speak; but his 
head hung in listless silence. Richard, with mali- 



^2 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

clous spite, said it was but counterfeiting, for such 
was Clifford's policy; and each of the conquering 
knights in turn put mocking questions to their 
mighty enemy. When, at last, they were quite 
sure he was dead, they cut off his head, and it was 
reared in the place where York's had stood, over 
the city gates. 

The next step was to London; there to triumph 
and crown Edward king of England ; and the 
young duke, so soon to be sovereign, graciously 
thanked the valiant Warwick for his loyal service, 
and said never would he undertake anything 
wherein his counsel and consent was wanting. He 
said he would, when he took the throne, create his 
brother Richard, Duke of Gloster, and George, 
Duke of Clarence, but Warwick, as the king's self, 
should do and undo as he pleased. 

When all this was finally done and Edward the 
Fourth had ascended to Henry's throne, the Earl 
of Warwick hastened across the sea to France to 
ask the Lady Bona to be Edward's queen, for by 
this alliance it was thought the two lands could 
be sinewed together; and, said Warwick, having 
France for his friend, Edward need not dread the 
scattered foe in England, which now hoped to rise 
again. 

But the great earl had not long been gone when 
King Edward's susceptible heart was touched by 
the beauty of a lady among his own subjects, who 
came to sue for restoration of her lands which had 
been seized by King Henry after the battle of St. 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 73 

Albans, where her husband had been slain. The 
name of this widow was Lady Grey; and, by the 
advice of Richard and in obedience to his own 
inclinations, the king determined to give back her 
lands; but he laid a condition on their return which 
the lady was loath to grant, for he asked her for 
her love; but she said she had rather lie in prison, 
for her honesty was her only dower, and even for 
her lands she would not lose it. 

Edward was, in truth, the bluntest wooer in 
Christendom, and, finding he could not unlawfully 
prevail with the widow, he was so much enamoured 
with her looks, her wit, and her abundant perfec- 
tions, that he proposed to her to be his queen. 
*"Tis better said than done, my gracious lord," 
quoth the dame, who did not believe him to be 
in earnest; but the king would not be denied. 
* ' Sweet widow, ' ' said he, ' ' I swear by my state, 
I speak no more than what my soul intends, and 
that is to possess thee for my love." The Lady 
Grey was still doubtful of his good faith, but so 
warmly did he vow that he meant to make her his 
queen, she at last came to believe him and gladly 
yielded to his suit. Turning then to his brothers, 
who stood aside in whispered merriment, the king 
asked them if they would think it strange if he 
should marry her. * ' To whom ?' ' asked Clarence, 
in jest. ' ' Why, to myself, ' ' said Edward. * ' That 
would beaten days' wonder," quoth Gloster; and 
so they laughed on, supposing that the king made 
merry, when a nobleman suddenly entered and 



74 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

announced that King Henry had been taken and 
brought a prisoner to the palace gates. Edward 
bid him see that Henry was conveyed to the Tower, 
and he called his brothers, saying they should go 
with him to question the man that captured him. 
' * Widow, ' ' he said to Lady Grey, * ' go you along ;' * 
and he commanded all his lords to use her hon- 
ourably and according to the rank she was shortly 
to assume. 

In the mean time the English Queen Margaret, 
having parted from King Henry in Scotland, had 
travelled post-haste to the French court, and, 
coming before King Lewis, poured forth the 
wrongs she had suffered at the hands of the house 
of York and the Earl of Warwick, and implored 
assistance to assert her right to the English crown. 
Lewis bid her sit down beside him on his throne, 
for, being his own countrywoman, he sympathized 
much with her, and was not slow to offer her the 
aid she asked. With some hesitation Queen 
Margaret at last took the offered seat, and said 
that the king's gracious words revived her droop- 
ing thoughts; but at this same instant the Earl of 
Warwick came into the king's presence and cut 
short the interview. 

"Welcome, brave Warwick!" said the king. 
' ' What brings thee to France ?' ' and he got down 
from his throne to greet the bold warrior, while 
Queen Margaret arose in dismay. The earl said 
that he came from Edward, King of Albion, his 
lord and sovereign, and the vowed friend of King 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 75 

Lewis, first to do greeting to the king's royal 
person, then to crave a league of amity, and lastly 
to confirm that amity with a nuptial knot, if Lewis 
would vouchsafe to grant the virtuous Lady Bona, 
his fair sister, to King Edward in lawful marriage. 
Upon hearing this, Queen Margaret murmured 
that Henry's hope was done; but Warwick took 
no heed of her, thinking only of his weighty pur- 
pose with the king. He kissed the Lady Bona's 
hand in King Edward's behalf, and told her in 
appealing words the passion of his sovereign's 
heart, wherein fame had placed her beauty's image 
and her virtue. Then the English queen, unable 
longer to keep silence, broke out into abuse of 
King Edward and of Warwick, and bid King 
Lewis to look well that by this league and mar- 
riage he drew not upon himself danger and dis- 
honour. Warwick repelled her accusations, but 
Lord Oxford, the queen's adherent, came to her 
rescue so hotly, that at last King Lewis was com- 
pelled to ask them to stand aside while he used 
further conference with Warwick. 

When they were gone the king desired to know 
from the earl, even upon his conscience, if Edward 
were his true king; for he said he was loath to 
link with him that was not lawfully chosen. 
Warwick pawned his credit and honour on this 
point, and said also that Edward was gracious in 
the people's eye. Then the French king asked, 
''All dissembling set aside, tell me for truth the 
measure of his love unto our sister Bona ?' ' The 



76 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

earl said he had himself often heard the king 
swear that his love was an eternal plant, the root 
whereof was fixed in virtue's ground. Where- 
upon King Lewis turned to his sister and asked 
to hear her wishes. She said his grant or denial 
should be hers; but yet she confessed that when 
she had heard King Edward's deserts recounted, 
she had been tempted to desire for his love. 
' ' Then, Warv/ick, ' ' said King Lewis, * ' our sister 
shall be Edward's." And he commanded that 
the articles of the marriage should at once be 
drawn. " Come near, Queen Margaret," he said, 
**and be a witness that Bona shall be wife to the 
English king." "To Edward, but not to the 
English king," said Margaret, defiantly; yet her 
anger availed her little, for Lewis was obdurate, 
and said that she should have all kindness at his 
hands, but that as Edward appeared to be rightful 
king of England, it was but reason that he should 
be released from giving her aid against him. 

But now a horn sounded without, which cut 
short the colloquy, and a messenger came posting 
in with letters from England for King Lewis, 
Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Warwick. 

' * Warwick, what news ? and yours, fair queen ?' ' 
asked King Lewis. The queen said hers filled her 
heart with unhoped-for joy; but Warwick, with a 
deep frown, said his was full of sorrow and discon- 
tent. "What!" stormed the angry Lewis, "has 
your king married the Lady Grey? and now, to 
excuse your forgery and his, sends me a paper to 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 77 

persuade me patience? Is this the alUance he 
seeks with France ? Dare he presume to scorn us 
in this manner ?' ' The queen was rejoiced at this 
new turn of affairs, and she mockingly said it proved 
Edward's love and Warwick's honesty. Then 
Warwick, driven to self-defence, protested by the 
hope he had of heavenly bliss that he was clear 
from this misdeed of Edward's, who, he said, was 
no more his king, for he had dishonoured him ; 
and he then and there renounced him and returned 
to Henry. To the queen he made overtures of 
peace, and begged her to let former grudges pass, 
for henceforth he would be her true servitor, and 
he pledged himself to revenge the wrong done to 
Lady Bona and to replant Henry in his former state. 

Thus these bitter foes were reconciled, and 
Lewis quickly granted Warwick's request for a 
few bands of chosen soldiers, with which to land 
on the English coast and force the tyrant Edward 
from his seat by war. Then the French king sent 
back to the English king a martial message, saying 
he was sending over maskers to revel it with him 
and his new bride, and Warwick bid the messen- 
ger say that King Edward had done him wrong 
and therefore he would uncrown him. 

But when Lewis had promised the Lords War- 
wick and Oxford five thousand men, with further 
supplies to follow with Queen Margaret and the 
young prince, her son, he asked the earl what 
pledge he could give of his loyalty to the English 
queen and her French allies. Warwick said that, 

7* 



78 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

if the queen and her son agreed, he would join his 
eldest daughter to the young prince in holy wed- 
lock. The queen agreed instantly, for the earl's 
daughter was fair and virtuous and the union would 
be of great service to the prince's cause. King 
Henry's young heir, therefore, gave Warwick his 
hand in pledge of his vow to wed the earl's 
daughter; and this being arranged, the English 
nobles set out forthwith to levy soldiers and pre- 
pare for the invasion of Edward's realm. 

While King Edward was enjoying the early days 
of his marriage with Lady Grey in London, he one 
day stood with his brothers and courtiers in con- 
verse upon his wedding, for the king's brothers 
were much averse to it, when the messenger he 
had sent to France returned with the answers of 
King Lewis and Warwick. These much incensed 
the bold Edward, and he threatened wars to make 
them pay for their presumption; but when the 
messenger told of Warwick's alliance with the 
queen, by a marriage of his daughter to the young 
prince, the Duke of Clarence, Edward's brother, 
thought within himself that now was the time to 
gain credit with the powerful earl by demanding 
the hand of his other daughter; and he slipped 
away to put his plan into execution, taking with 
him the Duke of Somerset. The king seeing 
them go, and suspecting their motive, sent the 
Lords Pembroke and Stafford in all haste to levy 
men and prepare for the coming war, saying that 
himself in person would straightway follow them; 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 79 

but before he went, Hastings and Montague, 
and his brother Richard, vowed that they would 
be true to his cause, upon which he said he was 
sure of victory. 

In due time the Earl of Warwick's second 
daughter was wedded to the Duke of Clarence, and 
thus was cemented a union which gave great hope 
to King Henry's adherents; and so much was the 
earl encouraged by this and by the numbers of the 
common people who swarmed to his standard, that 
he conceived the bold plan of capturing King 
Edward in his own tent in the midst of his camp. 
Warwick knew that Edward' s guard was small and 
the soldiers careless, and he thought he might 
surprise the king in the night and, seizing his per- 
son, put an end at once to the war and to the reign 
of the house of York. 

The earl and his followers therefore set forth 
upon this enterprise, and succeeded past their 
hopes. Edward was taken without bloodshed, 
and Warwick uncrowned him and bid Lord Somer- 
set convey him prisoner to his brother, Archbishop 
of York, for he said he had yet to fight with King 
Edward's forces before he could follow. This done 
he meant to set out for London, free King Henry 
from the Tower, and see him seated on the throne. 

The imprisonment which Edward suffered at the 
hands of the Archbishop of York was by no means 
strict, for he was allowed to hunt through the 
country quite at large, saving for the presence of a 
single huntsman; and hearing of this, his brother 



8o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Richard, Lord Hastings, and Sir William Stanley- 
betook them to that country, and lay in ambush 
to rescue the royal prisoner. This was a very 
easy matter and soon accomplished, and Edward, 
taking the huntsman with him, rode away to Lynn, 
and shipped with his friends for Flanders. 

As Warwick and his generals greeted King 
Henry in the Tower and were about to set him at 
liberty, the news of Edward's escape was brought 
in to them, and they liked it not, for they surmised 
that the Duke of Burgundy would yield him help, 
and that they should before long have more bat- 
tles to fight. 

This proved quite true, for Edward quickly gath- 
ered strength in the duke's domain, and sailed back 
in a brief space to claim his dukedom of York. 
The mayor of York, however, would not let him 
enter the gates, for now, he said, he owed alle- 
giance unto Henry; but Edward argued that if 
Henry were his king, he was at least his duke, and 
the mayor upon this opened the gates and admitted 
the lawful ruler of the town, whereupon it was not 
long before Edward, at the urgent prayer of his 
nobles, allowed himself again to be proclaimed king. 

This news stirred Warwick and his followers to 
renewed action, and presently they also took the 
field with a reinforced army ; but King Henry 
rested in London. 

When his warriors had left his presence, the 
king stayed in talk with his loyal servant Exeter 
upon the fortunes of the war. He was confident 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 8l 

of victory, he said, because he had not stopped 
his ears against the demands of his subjects, but in 
all things had treated them with mildness and pity; 
hence Edward would not be able to seduce them 
from their allegiance. Thus it was that this weak 
king mistook a yielding will for mercy, and having 
lost his royal prerogatives by indecision, thought to 
hold his people's affection by that same trait. But 
as he talked in this vein, there suddenly arose a 
shout from his people out of doors, ''A Lancaster! 
a Lancaster!" and in an instant a score of knights in 
armor rushed into the room and took him captive. 

These were King Edward and his brother Gloster 
with their nobles and soldiers, and they bore the 
astonished king away to the Tower even before 
he could offer a remonstrance or draw his sword. 
Then the conquering band took its course towards 
Coventry, there to meet Warwick and join in a 
final battle for Edward's cause. 

When at last they arrived, they found the earl in- 
trenched within the town of Coventry, and though 
all his forces had not yet come up, he was little 
intimidated by King Edward's threats, but calmly 
awaited his fellow-generals and their troops. 
Presently Lord Oxford arrived with beating drums 
and flying colors and passed through the gates, 
and after him marched Montague with an equally 
large force. These were followed by Somerset; 
and then came Edward' s brother Clarence with a 
fair following for Warwick' s aid. ' * Come, Clarence, 
come," said the earl; "thou wilt if Warwick call;" 
iv.-f 



82 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

but he miscalculated his power over this changeful 
duke, for Clarence, seeing his brother's army close 
at hand, halted and hesitated under the walls. At 
last his purpose grew firm, and he took the red rose 
of Lancaster from his cap and cast it towards the 
earl. "Father of Warwick," he cried, "know 
you what this means ? Look here, I throw my in- 
famy at thee." Thus in one instant he undid what 
he had undertaken with so much plotting, to gain 
his selfish ends. Then he turned from Warwick 
to his brother Edward and asked his pardon; and 
he begged Richard not to frown upon his faults, 
for he would henceforth be no more unconstant. 
Edward welcomed him ten times more, he said, 
than if he had never deserved his hate, and Gloster 
gave him a brotherly greeting; but Warwick from 
the walls denounced him as a traitor perjured and 
unjust ; upon hearing whose voice King Edward 
challenged the earl to leave the town and fight, or 
else he threatened to beat the stones about his ears. 
Warwick bid him to battle if he dared, and thus 
the crisis in the affairs of these two opposing 
houses of Lancaster and York drew on apace. 

The battle took place near Barnet, and after 
much brave fighting on either side the victory fell 
to King Edward, who wounded the great Earl of 
Warwick and left him on the field to die, while 
he went again into the fight to find and conquer 
the Lord Montague. Warwick bewailed his fate 
alone, crying in his pain and bitterness, "Why, 
what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust, for, 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 83 

live how we can, we must all die at last." But as 
he uttered these hopeless words his friends Oxford 
and Somerset came up with the news that the 
queen had brought a puissant power from France. 
This revived the courage of the dying earl, and 
he called for his brother Montague to come and 
take his hand, and with his lips keep in his soul 
awhile; and because he did not come, Warwick 
reproached him with loving him not, for if he did, 
he said, his tears would wash away the congealed 
blood that glued his lips. But the sad truth was 
that Montague had breathed his last, crying out 
to the latest gasp for Warwick; and when they 
told the dying earl this, he said, ' ' Sweet rest to 
his soul," and bidding farewell to his friends, he 
also gave up the ghost. 

Queen Margaret with thirty thousand French 
soldiers, and reinforced by Oxford and Somerset, 
who now fled to her camp, held her course towards 
Tewksbury, and thither King Edward straightway 
followed her, where meeting her force in battle, 
he overcame the queen and made her, with Oxford 
and Somerset, his prisoners. 

Lord Oxford he sent to Hammes castle, while Som- 
erset was immediately beheaded, but the prince, 
whom Edward feared even more than these, be- 
cause he was Henry's heir, had not been taken, and 
the king offered a high reward for his capture. 

But fortune in all things smiled upon Edward, 
for as he uttered the words some soldiers came up 
with the prince in their custody, and, being invited 



84 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

to Speak, the boy boldly defied the king, bidding 
him resign his chair and kneel where now he stood. 
King Edward, in the pride of his victory, could ill 
brook such words from a wilful lad, and wishing 
above all things for his death, which would remove 
a dangerous rival to the throne, he drew his sword 
and stabbed him, upon which each of his brothers 
in turn did the same, until the prince lay dead at 
his mother's feet. 

*' O kill me too!" cried the queen; and Gloster 
would have surely stabbed her had not the king 
restrained him, saying they had already done too 
much. Then the lady swooned, and while they 
used means for her recovery, Gloster whispered 
Clarence, asking him to excuse him to the king, 
for he meant to go hence to London on a serious 
matter, and he added, ' ' Ere ye come there, be 
sure to hear some news." Clarence questioned 
what; to which Gloster made no reply saving, 
"The Tower! The Tower!" Presently the king 
asked where Richard had gone, and when he was 
told, he seemed to divine his brother's purpose, 
and made no motion to prevent it, but set about 
gathering his forces for the march to London. 

When Richard arrived at the Tower he found 
King Henry seated with a book in his hand, and 
greeted him fairly; but the king was suspicious 
of his intention, the more especially as Gloster 
ordered the lieutenant of the Tower to leave them 
to themselves, for they must, he said, confer. 
'*So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf," 



KING HENRY VI. — PART III. 85 

said the unfortunate king; but Richard repUed 
that suspicion always haunted the guilty mind, 
and the thief fears each bush an officer. The king 
asked him wherefore he came, and if it were for his 
life. But Gloster said he was not an executioner; 
and thus they talked on, each divining the hidden 
thoughts of the other, until the misshapen Gloster 
pretended to be incensed at the king's description 
of his unnatural birth; and, crying he would hear 
no more, he stabbed him to death. But not satis- 
fied with this, he lifted his dripping sword, which 
he said was weeping for the poor king's death, 
and in very wantonness stabbed him again, crying, 
*' Down, down to hell: and say I sent thee thither!" 
After which, remembering the king's description 
of his birth, he murmured out a kind of grim 
satisfaction, that being the hunchback he was, he 
had, in revenge upon nature that made him so, 
neither pity, love, nor fear; and he reflected that 
it was true, as Henry had said, that he came into 
the world with his legs forward, and was born with 
teeth. In this moment of self-revelation he also 
growled forth a warning to his brothers, bidding 
Clarence beware, for he would find means to re- 
move him; and against Edward he would, he said, 
buzz prophesies abroad which should make him 
fearful for his hfe, and then, to purge his fear, he 
would be his death. 

The king, quite unconscious of Gloster' s grim 
thoughts, came to London with all despatch, and 
ascended the throne amid his nobles, to whom he 

8 



86 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

spoke with royal pride of the trials passed through 
and the victories won. He bid his good Queen 
Bess come to his side, and he kissed his boy, 
young Ned, as he called him, telling him how his 
father and his uncles had in their armors watched 
the winter's night, and gone all afoot in summer's 
scalding heat, that the little prince might repossess 
the crown in peace. Gloster stood by watching 
this scene furtively, and in his heart planning to 
blast the prince's harvest, and when the king bid 
him to love his lovely queen and kiss his princely 
nephew, he put his grim lips against those of the 
child, muttering, ' ' So Judas kissed his Master. ' ' 
But witnessing this scene of amity, Edward felt 
that he was seated as his soul delighted to be, for 
he had his country's peace and brothers' loves; 
so that, when Clarence asked what his majesty 
would do with Queen Margaret, for whom her 
father, Reignier, had pawned the Sicihes and 
Jerusalem to France, and had sent the sum thus 
raised to England for her ransom, the king bid 
him away with her, and waft her to France. 

Thus the house of Lancaster being disposed of, 
the victorious king of the house of York spent 
the time with stately triumphs and mirthful comic 
shows, such as befitted the pleasure of the court. 




KING RICHARD III. 



RICHARD, Duke of Gloster, was the third son 
to Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, who, 
having won King Henry the Sixth to make him 
his heir to the crown, was afterwards slain in battle 
by Lord Clifford. But upon the murder of King 
Henry the Sixth by this same Richard, Edward, his 
brother, ascended the throne in his father's stead. 
There were between the Duke of Gloster and 
the crown some five different heirs, for this King 
Edward the Fourth had a son Edward, who was 
Prince of Wales; and the Duke of Clarence, the 
second son of the Duke of York and the king's 
brother, had a son and a daughter; but the dark 
and unscrupulous mind of Richard, who, mal- 
formed in shape and hideous in face, found little 
to delight him in the diversions of the court, de- 
termined him to become a villain; and to achieve 
his purpose of gaining the crown he deliberately 
laid plots to entangle his brothers in enmities, 
freely telling lies and consorting with fortune- 
tellers, whom he employed to work upon the super- 
stitious mind of the sick king, his brother. 

87 



88 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

The first victim which this wicked prince sacri- 
ficed to his ambition to be king was his loving 
brother the Duke of Clarence, for whom he pro- 
fessed the tenderest attachment, pretending to 
return his love with a twofold fervor; But while 
he was acting thus to Clarence, he was poisoning 
the mind of the king against him by the use of a 
device common to malicious men of those days, 
which was to make an enemy the victim of some 
old prophecy, such as, in this case, that the mur- 
derer of Edward's heirs should be *'G.," as in- 
deed he was, for Gloster did finally secure their 
death; but now this wicked duke made the king 
believe that the prophecy was pointed at George, 
Duke of Clarence, and the king, whose own evil 
deeds had made him suspicious of others, was 
ready to believe the tale, and, hence, he had his 
brother Clarence conveyed to the Tower, where 
he was slain by the king's secret commands. But 
it was Gloster who planned the murder and pro- 
cured the ruffians who did the deed. 

As Sir Robert Brakenbury, the lieutenant of the 
Tower, came into Clarence's room one morning, 
he found the poor duke looking alarmed and ill, 
and upon asking what was the cause, Clarence 
told him of a fearful dream he had had that same 
night. '' Methought," said he, his eyes still wan- 
dering in affi-ight, ''that I had broken from the 
Tower and was embarked to cross to Burgundy, 
and in my company was my brother Gloster, who 
tempted me to walk from my cabin upon the 



KING RICHARD III. 89 

hatches. There we looked towards England, and 
recalled the heavy times that had befallen us dur- 
ing the wars of York and Lancaster. As we paced 
along upon the giddy footing methought Gloster 
stumbled, and, in falling, struck me, who meant 
to save him, overboard. Then I thought what 
pain it was to drown, what dreadful noise of water 
was in my ears, and what sights of ugly death in 
my eyes. Methought I saw scattered in the bot- 
tom of the sea a thousand fearful wrecks, a thou- 
sand men gnawed upon by fishes, wedges of gold, 
great anchors, heaps of pearl, inestimable stones, 
and jewels beyond value. Some lay in dead men's 
skulls; and in those holes which eyes did once 
inhabit there were crept, as if in scorn of eyes, 
reflecting gems, that wooed the slimy bottom of 
the deep, and mocked the dead bones that lay 
scattered by." 

The good lieutenant tried to compose the 
troubled mind of the duke, but the fearful dream 
had taken hold of his senses so deeply that he 
would not be comforted; and, in truth, there was 
good reason for his alarm, though he knew it not, 
for Richard had sent his murderers that very day 
to do their bloody work, and they were even then, 
as he spoke, entering the Tower. 

When the duke at last retired to try and take 
some sleep, the two men presented themselves to 
Brakenbury and, showing him the king's warrant, 
demanded to be admitted to Clarence's chamber. 
As the lieutenant was powerless to oppose the royal 

8* 



90 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

commission, he pointed out where the duke lay- 
asleep, and gave the two men the keys, saying he 
would away to the king and signify that he had 
resigned his charge to them. 

Thus admitted to Clarence's bedside, the mur- 
derers looked upon him sleeping, and one of them 
was for a moment seized with a fit of remorse, which 
the raillery and coaxing of the other soon over- 
came, and so they counselled how best to strike 
their victim. ' * Take him on the head with the 
hilt of your sword, and then throw him into the 
Malmsey-wine butt in the next room," said the 
boldest villain; but just as his accomplice was about 
to do this the duke awoke, saying, ' ' Where art 
thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine." "You 
shall have wine enough, my lord, anon," was the 
grim reply; and Clarence, beginning to understand 
their meaning, cried, "In God's name, what art 
thou?" He saw the deadly eyes menace him, and 
the pale cheeks bending above him, and he asked 
why they had come; to which one replied in stam- 
mering words that they were come to murder him. 
Then Clarence put forth all the moving language 
and thoughts that come to a doomed man. He 
pleaded and argued with them for his life, until, 
had they been susceptible of pity, their hearts must 
have melted at his words. But hope of reward and 
dread of Richard's anger turned them into stone, 
and in order to end the scene, which was painful 
even to them, one of the murderers told the duke 
to look behind him, which when he did, the other 



KING RICHARD III. 9I 

instantly stabbed him, crying, ' ' Take that, and 
that!" 

When the poor duke was near to death, this 
desperate ruffian picked up his body and bore it 
into the next room, there to quench his Hfe in the 
butt of Malmsey wine. But the other murderer, 
whose conscience was not yet all extinguished, was 
appalled at the deed and wished he might wash his 
hands of it. His fellow questioned anon why he 
helped him not; but rather than meddle any further 
in the grievous business this remorseful villain told 
the other to take Richard's fee all to himself, for 
he repented the duke was slain, thus showing how 
conscience sooner or later asserts itself and pun- 
ishes us with regret that deepens into lifelong 
despair. 

Now, the king's courtiers and the relations of 
Elizabeth, his queen, had long been at enmity, and 
this had much vexed his majesty, who, being ill 
and fearing that he might die, was anxious to 
compose their differences and make peace in his 
household. 

With this purpose in mind he called all the 
opposing lords together and bid each embrace the 
other, which, with much outward show of amity, 
they did. But among those who were most accused 
of keeping the discord alive was Richard of Glos- 
ter, and the king noticed that he was not present. 
Gloster, however, was well aware of the king's 
desire and of all which had taken place, and just 
as the king missed him he came gravely up, bidding 



92 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the group an amiable good-morning. When the 
king told him what had been done he called the 
hour blessed, and said that if among them all any, 
by false intelligence or wrong surmise, held him for 
a foe, he desired to reconcile himself to his friendly 
peace, for he hated enmity and desired all good 
men's love. Then this dissembling duke entreated 
peace of the queen, of Buckingham, of Lord 
Rivers, the queen's brother, and of Dorset, her 
son, and of the Lords Woodville and Scales, all of 
whom were his sworn foes. 

The queen was so much rejoiced at this show of 
love that she said the day should be kept holy 
thereafter, and she wished that all strifes might be 
so compounded, beseeching the king in her fervour 
to take his brother Clarence back to grace. 

But Gloster hereupon showed signs of affront, 
and asked her if he had offered his love only to be 
flouted thus in the royal presence; for he ques- 
tioned who knew not that Clarence was dead, and 
he charged that she did the gentle duke injury 
thus to scorn his corse. This was Gloster' s sly way 
of making known this hateful crime, and it had its 
effect, for all who were within hearing started and 
lost color at the news, and the king asked if it were 
really true, for he said the order had been reversed. 
Gloster replied that Clarence was executed before 
the second order arrived, for the first was borne 
by a winged Mercury, but the last by some tardy 
cripple. 

The king was stricken with remorse at this news. 



KING RICHARD III. 93 

He had thought to undo his wrong to Clarence, 
and never have it known that he intended his 
death; but an evil purpose such as his works out 
its own revenge, and now King Edward could do 
nothing but mourn his brother's death and blame 
himself for the crime. "O God!" he cried, "I 
fear thy justice will take hold on me and mine for 
this," and then, under the escort of Lord Hastings, 
he withdrew, with all his lords save Buckingham, 
in grief to his closet. 

Gloster being thus left alone with Buckingham, 
who was his sole ally in the court, and several lesser 
lords, he bid them mark how all the guilty kindred 
of the queen looked pale when they heard of Clar- 
ence' s death, and he insinuated that the queen's 
family were guilty of the duke's death, but he said, 
in his seeming righteous wrath, that God would 
revenge the deed, and he bid them all go in and 
comfort the king in company. 

But it was liot long before King Edward himself 
died, and his son, the young Prince of Wales, who 
was then at Ludlow, inherited the throne as King 
Edward the Fifth. The Duke of Buckingham 
proposed that the young king should forthwith be 
fetched from Ludlow, with some little train, to be 
crowned in London; but Earl Rivers, the queen's 
brother, who feared the ambitious designs of Buck- 
ingham and Gloster, was opposed to this, and asked 
why there should be a little train. The duke re- 
plied that if there were a multitude the new-healed 
wounds of malice might break out afresh, and 



94 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Gloster too thought thus, whereupon Rivers as- 
sented; but the struggle was not yet over, for the 
choice of an escort must be determined, and this 
was a harder task still. Buckingham and Gloster, 
however, determined that whoever might journey- 
to the prince, themselves must be of the party, for 
on the way they would find occasion to part the 
queen's proud kindred from his highness and take 
him under their own plotting guidance. 

This they finally did by boldly sending Lord 
Rivers, Lord Grey, and Sir Thomas Vaughan, 
prisoners to Pomfret Castle, and when the news 
was brought to Queen Elizabeth, she saw in it, she 
said, the ruin of her house, for the tiger had now 
seized the gentle hind, her son, and in this she 
read, as in a map, the end of all. She then fled 
with her younger son, the Duke of York, to sanc- 
tuary, whence under the laws of those days none 
could forcibly take her or him. 

When the young king, accompanied by Gloster 
and Buckingham, with Cardinal Bouchier and other 
followers, arrived in London, he asked anxiously 
for his mother and brother, whom he had expected 
to come forth to meet him; but presently Lord 
Hastings arrived in their stead, telling the news of 
their flight to sanctuary, whereupon Buckingham 
bid the cardinal go thither and persuade the queen 
to send the young Duke of York to the king, and 
if she denied the request, he ordered that Hastings 
should, even in violation of the laws of sanctuary, 
pluck the boy from her arms perforce. The cardi- 



KING RICHARD III. 95 

nal opposed this and refused to infringe the holy 
privilege; but Buckingham accused him of being 
obstinate, and with a specious argument broke 
down the prelate's objections, so that he went 
speedily forth to the queen. 

Then the young king asked his uncle Gloster 
where he and his brother should sojourn till his 
coronation, and the duke feigned to let Edward 
choose for himself; but his counsel, which the 
prince dared not disobey, was that his highness 
should repose at the Tower, for there Gloster 
knew he might the easier keep him within his 
grasp. The king said he did not like the Tower, 
and shuddered at the thought of entering, even 
for a little time, that grim prison where his uncle 
Clarence had so lately been murdered; but as he 
and his uncle Richard spoke together of this, the 
young Duke of York was brought to them by 
Lord Hastings and Cardinal Bouchier, and the 
joyful meeting turned the king's mind from the 
bitter subject. But Gloster was determined to 
entrap his nephews in the Tower, where he might 
the more readily accomplish his designs upon 
them, and without appearing to do so, he led 
them by gradual steps to consent to go thither, 
while he and Buckingham, his confederate in all 
this, went to the queen to entreat her also to meet 
and welcome her sons at the Tower. 

When Gloster and Buckingham were alone, the 
latter called to his side Sir William Catesby, a 
trusted attendant upon this pair of plotters, and 



96 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

sounded him as to Lord Hastings' loyalty to 
Richard should he aim to ascend the throne. 
Catesby said that Hastings loved Prince Edward 
for his father's sake, and would not easily be won 
from him; and Stanley, he said, would do what- 
ever Hastings did. Buckingham then bid Catesby 
go and sound Hastings, and summon him to a con- 
ference upon the coronation, at the Tower on the 
morrow; and Gloster seconded this, by sending 
word that Hastings' ancient knot of dangerous 
adversaries should die on that same day at Pomfret 
castle. 

When their messenger was gone, Richard, in 
his well-dissembled gratitude, told Buckingham to 
claim of him, when he should be king, the earl- 
dom of Hereford and all the movables his brother 
the late king was possessed of, for he assured him 
that these things should be yielded with all kind- 
ness. Then these two notable conspirators went 
to sup together, so that being together afterwards 
they might digest their plots into some form. 

Catesby did his task with all expedition, and on 
the morrow Hastings and Stanley were both of 
the council in the Tower which met to determine 
the coronation of the young king; but they had 
both refused to give assent to Richard's claim to 
the throne, and this news Catesby had carried to 
his master. The Bishop of Ely and other lords, 
with the Duke of Buckingham, were also of the 
company in the Tower; but Richard was not 
present when the conference opened, and the 



KING RICHARD III. 97 

unwary Hastings, upon Buckingham's prompting, 
ventured to give his voice in Gloster's behalf, so 
much he said the duke loved and confided in him. 

Just at this moment Gloster appeared with suave 
apologies for his delay, upon which Buckingham 
told him that had he not come Lord Hastings 
would have pronounced his voice in the council. 
To this Richard returned that no man might be 
bolder, for his lordship knew and loved him well; 
but instantly he drew Buckingham aside and told 
him of Catesby's tidings, saying that Hastings 
was so hot he would lose his head ere he would 
give consent that Edward should lose the royalty 
of England. Then these two withdrew, and the 
rest went on with the business in hand; but the 
unsuspecting Hastings could not help alluding to 
Richard's cheerful looks. Said he, " There must 
be some conceit afoot that he likes well, when he 
bids good-morrow with such spirit, ' ' and he added 
that there was not a man in Christendom who could 
hide his love or hate less than the Duke of Gloster, 
for by his face you could straightway know his 
heart. Thus do some men pass for wise who per- 
ceive not the most obvious concealments of others; 
but Stanley, more alert, asked what was to be per- 
ceived in his face that day ; and Hastings said that 
it showed he was offended with no man there, for 
if he were he could not have kept it from view. 

But at this same moment the Dukes of Gloster 
and Buckingham returned, and Richard, with a 
grave brow, asked what they deserved that con- 

IV.— E g 9 



98 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Spired against his life with devilish pilots of witch- 
craft, and prevailed upon his body with charms. 
Hastings was foremost in answering that they who 
did these black deeds deserved death. *'Then," 
said Richard, ' * be your eyes the witness of their 
evil," and he showed his arm, which from birth 
had been deformed, saying it was like a blasted 
sapling, and he accused Queen Elizabeth and Jane 
Shore, the mistress of Hastings, of thus marking 
him with their spells. Hastings began to speak, 

' ' If they have done this deed ' ' but Richard 

cut him short: "If! talk thou to me of ifs ?' ' and he 
accused him of harbouring Jane Shore, for which 
offence he said he was a traitor. He therefore 
commanded the attendants to take off his head, 
and vowed he would not dine until he saw it done. 

Hastings was instantly led out to execution, and 
another obstacle was thus removed from Richard's 
path to the throne. 

The people of England were, however, to be 
won over before the Duke of Gloster could safely 
assume the crown, and to accomplish this end he 
sent Buckingham to the mayor of London, bid- 
ding him infer to the mayor the bastardy of his 
brother, King Edward, and of his children, for he 
said that Edward was begotten when his father was 
in France, and by true computation of the time the 
old duke found that Edward was not his own child, 
which well appeared in his lineaments, he being in 
nothing like the noble duke, his father. But he 
craftily bid Buckingham to touch sparingly upon 



KING RICHARD III. 99 

this, because his mother lived, whose fame he was 
quite wiUing to assail, but he feared to be accused 
of unfilial conduct, which would be accounted a 
sin with the populace. 

He arranged with Buckingham that if he throve 
well in his mission he should bring the mayor and 
citizens to Baynard's castle, where, said Richard, he 
would be found accompanied with learned bishops 
and reverend fathers. 

Buckingham fared but ill in his appeal to the 
people ; but he induced the mayor to go to Bay- 
nard's castle, and he counselled Richard not to be 
spoken with but by mighty suit and urging, and 
to come forth at last between two churchmen, with 
a prayer-book in his hands. When, therefore, the 
lord mayor with his aldermen and a following of 
citizens came at last into the court of the castle, 
Richard was not present, and Buckingham alone 
greeted them. He turned to Catesby and asked 
what reply Gloster had given to his request that 
he might see the duke, and Catesby, well schooled 
in such dissembling, said that the duke entreated 
his grace to visit him to-morrow or next day, for 
he was with two reverend fathers and would not be 
moved in worldly suits. 

Buckingham bid Catesby return and tell the duke 
that the mayor and aldermen desired an audience; 
but this was futile, for Catesby came back with the 
reply that, being there with such troops of citizens, 
the duke feared they meant no good to him and 
would not show himself. 



lOO TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Again Catesby was sent in to tell Gloster they 
came in perfect love, and this was at last success- 
ful, for the duke appeared between two bishops in 
a gallery above them. 

Richard cunningly said that he suspected he 
had done some offence to the city thus to bring 
forth so many of its people ; and Buckingham, 
quickly taking up the suggestion, replied that he 
had done so, and prayed it might please him to 
amend his fault. ' ' Else wherefore do I breathe in 
a Christian land ?" humbly repHed Richard; where- 
upon Buckingham told him that his fault was to 
have resigned the supreme seat and throne majesti- 
cal, the lineal glory of his house, to the corruption 
of the blemished stock of Edward; for the duke 
protested in the name of the citizens that the 
noble isle, Richard's rightful kingdom, wanted her 
proper limbs, her true sovereign, whom to secure 
he heartily solicited the gracious duke to take on 
him the charge and kingly government of the 
land, not as protector, steward, or substitute, but 
by right of inheritance; and this, quoth the crafty 
confederate of Richard, was the will of the citizens, 
who had come thither to proclaim their loyalty. 

Richard replied with becoming modesty that he 
knew not whether to depart from them in silence 
or bitterly to reprove them; but if he kept silent, 
he said, they might think he yielded to their 
request, and if he reproved them he might unduly 
check his friends. He therefore said that his 
deserts did not merit their high request, and with 



KING RICHARD III. lOI 

many more carefully chosen words he bid them be 
true to his nephew Edward, who would well be- 
come the seat of majesty. 

Buckingham then took up the strain of argu- 
ment for the citizens, and repeated all the evidence 
against Prince Edward's legitimacy which Gloster 
had before invented and revealed to him. The 
urgent words and the seeming truth of Bucking- 
ham's plea impressed the mayor of London not a 
little, and presently he entreated Duke Richard to 
draw forth his noble ancestry from the corruption 
of abusing time. The mayor was seconded by 
Buckingham and Catesby, though no voice was 
yet raised among the citizens; but Richard, seeing 
the time was ripe, began to yield, with many rea- 
sons against yielding and much pretended back- 
drawing, till Buckingham clinched the argument 
by vowing that whether Richard consented or not 
his nephew should never reign, for he said the 
citizens of England, for whom he spoke, would 
plant some other on the throne, to the disgrace and 
downfall of the house of York. Then feigning to 
be weary of entreaty, he bid the people come 
away, and all followed him forth. 

When they were gone Catesby, keeping up the 
conceit, begged Richard to call them back; and 
the wary duke, knowing that the critical moment 
had arrived, seemed to melt at Catesby' s pleading, 
and allowed him to run after the retreating throng. 
Presently the trusty lieutenant returned with Buck- 
ingham and the rest, and Richard said, with much 



I02 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

show of reluctance, that since they would needs 
buckle fortune on his back and force him bear her 
burden whether he would or no, he would accept 
the charge, but the scandal or reproach, if there 
were any, must be upon their heads, for they had 
forced him, and he was guiltless. The mayor 
cried, " May God bless your grace!" and willingly 
assumed the blame; while Buckingham saluted the 
duke with the royal title, ' ' Long live King Rich- 
ard, England's worthy king!" to which the citizens 
uttered a feeble amen. 

It was then arranged that Gloster should be 
crowned on the morrow, and he retired, as he 
said, to his holy work, bidding a solemn farewell 
to his cousin of Buckingham and to all his gentle 
friends. 

Once crowned king, the wicked Duke of Gloster 
determined that every rival to the throne should 
be removed from his path. He insinuated to 
Buckingham that he would like him to procure the 
death of his nephew Edward, but Buckingham 
appeared not to heed his meaning and gave no 
willing answer. This enraged Richard, and he 
turned to his attendants for aid, one among whom 
told him of a discontented gentleman named Tyrrel, 
who would do the deed, and Richard instantly sent 
for him, saying the deep-revolving Buckingham 
should no more be the neighbor to his counsels. 
To Catesby he assigned another task, which was 
to noise abroad that his wife Anne was grievous 
sick and like to die, for he meant that she should 



KING RICHARD III. IO3 

be put to death, so that, being free, he might 
marry his brother Edward's daughter, and thus 
confirm his title to the throne, for, he said, else it 
stood on brittle glass. His niece, the daughter of 
Clarence, he planned to marry to some mean, poor 
gentleman, and thus be rid of her; but the boy, 
her brother, he said was foolish and he feared him 
not. 

Thus did this bloody duke plan the destruction 
of his family; and he set about executing his plans 
with a speed and skill which were like to win him 
success in spite of the falling away of Buckingham, 
so that when that lord came to him saying he had 
considered in his mind the king's late request that 
Prince Edward should be removed, Richard told 
him to let that rest. Then Buckingham laid claim 
to the earldom of Hereford which Richard had 
promised him when he came to the throne; but 
Richard put him off, feigning not to heed him, and 
again and again he did the same to Buckingham's 
importunities, until at last the king grew vexed and 
told the duke he troubled him, and that he was 
not in the vein. Then Richard passed out with his 
attendants, leaving Buckingham, his fellow in all 
the dark plots of his ambition, to brood upon the 
ingratitude which cast him off when these were 
fulfilled. 

In the mean time Sir James Tyrrel had had the 
young princes put to death as Richard had com- 
manded, and he described to the king afterwards 
how Dighton and Forrest, the two murderers he 



I04 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

had hired for the deed, albeit they were hardened 
villains, melted with tenderness and wept like chil- 
dren in telHng the sad story of their death. The 
gentle babes, said they, lay girdling one another 
within their alabaster, innocent arms; their lips 
were four red roses on a stalk, and in their summer 
beauty kissed each other. A book of prayers lay 
on their pillow, which once, quoth Forrest, had 
almost changed his mind ; but when, at this point 
in the story, Forrest touched by the remembrance 
stopped, Dighton took it up, and told on how they 
had smothered the most replenished, sweet work 
of nature that she had framed from the prime 
creation. 

As all these crimes of the king's begetting 
became known one by one, Edward's queen and 
Richard's mother took alarm, and mingled their 
grief for the loss of their kin with the dread of like 
treatment for themselves, for none knew the sinister 
operations of Richard' s mind, nor where next his 
enmity or policy might strike. Richard knew this, 
and felt that it was therefore the extreme of bold- 
ness for him to ask Queen Elizabeth, whose sons 
he had just murdered, for the hand of her daughter 
in marriage. The union was all the more distasteful 
to her because of his near relationship; but in the 
pursuit of his ambitious object the treacherous 
king knew no bounds, and with cunning flatteries 
and covert threats he plied the poor, frightened 
queen until at last she yielded. 

But there was one claimant to the throne who 



KING RICHARD III. IC5 

was not within King Richard's power. This was 
Henry, Earl of Richmond, who now approached 
the western coast of England with a puissant navy, 
awaiting only the aid of the Duke of Buckingham 
before invading the realm. 

When Richard heard of this he took prompt 
measures to raise a force with which to oppose 
Richmond, saying to Stanley, who brought the 
news, that there was no heir to the house of York 
but himself, and that England's king must be the 
great York' s heir. But the cunning duke knew that 
he had much to fear from such an invasion, and he 
could little trust the few friends who still clung to 
his cause. He rated Stanley roundly for his cold- 
ness and that he brought no force to his aid; and 
when he sent that nobleman away to the north to 
gather a power, he put so little faith in his fealty 
that he demanded his son as a hostage. 

As Stanley left for the north, new reports of 
revolt came in from Devonshire and frOm Kent; 
but accompanying these was a more reassuring 
message, to the effect that Buckingham's army 
had been dispersed by sudden floods and that the 
duke himself had wandered away alone, no one 
knew whither. The king threw his purse to the 
bearer of this news, and asked if any well-advised 
friend had proclaimed reward to him who should 
bring the traitor in, for so at last Richard had 
come to call his late ally. 

But another messenger speedily arrived with 
tidings of an uprising in Yorkshire, which, how- 



I06 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

ever, was offset with the welcome news that the 
fleet of Richmond had been dispersed by tempest 
and that Richmond had set sail for Bretagne. 

This rejoiced King Richard, and he bid his 
forces march on, if not to fight with foreign ene- 
mies, still to surprise the rebels at home. But just 
as the king uttered these hopeful words Catesby, 
as if to overwhelm him with good news, came up 
with the tidings of Buckingham's capture; yet he 
must needs add the colder tidings that the Earl 
of Richmond had not sailed for Bretagne as was 
reported but had landed at Milford on the Welsh 
coast. 

This changed the current of Richard's mood 
from exultation to warlike haste. ' * Away towards 
Salisbury," he commanded, and reproached his 
generals for reasoning there while a royal battle 
might be won and lost. Then, ordering that 
Buckingham should be brought after him to Salis- 
bury, he took the command of his forces and 
marched onward. 

In the mean time, hearing of Richmond's ap- 
proach, his kinsman, Lord Stanley, sent him greet- 
ings and assurances that but for the danger to his 
son, who remained a hostage in King Richard's 
hands, he would have joined forces with him, as 
did many of his fellow-nobles ; and he further 
informed Richmond that Queen Elizabeth, who 
had been compelled to pledge her daughter to 
Richard, now heartily consented to her espousal 
with Richmond. 



KING RICHARD III. I07 

When King Richard arrived at Salisbury his 
first act was the execution of Buckingham, whose 
death brought him rehef from a dangerous foe, 
for this unscrupulous duke not only knew all the 
bloody secrets of the king, and would have revealed 
them, but he was enraged at Richard's rejection of 
his claims, and would have been a powerful ally 
to Richmond. After trying in vain to speak with 
the king, the duke asked to be led to the block 
of shame, where he himself had already sent so 
many, and there resting his head for the axe, he 
murmured, ' ' Wrong hath but wrong, and blame 
the due of blame," and straightway died. 

The opposing armies of King Richard and of 
the Earl of Richmond encamped over against each 
other at Bosworth field, and in the evening, while 
the king was holding counsel with his generals, 
the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Surrey, the 
Earl of Richmond received a secret visit from Lord 
Stanley, who gave him a glad greeting and assured 
him of assistance on the morrow. He advised this 
young earl to prepare his battle early in the morn- 
ing and to put his fortunes to the arbitrament of 
bloody strokes, saying that he, as he might, would 
deceive the time with best advantage and aid him 
in the shock of arms. But he added that he 
could not on his side be too forward, lest, be- 
ing seen, his son George, the earl's brother, might 
be executed in his father's sight. Then Stanley 
bid his noble son-in-law farewell, and crying, * ' Be 
valiant and speed well, ' ' he withdrew to his own 



I08 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

camp, which lay at some distance behind the 
king's. 

Richmond was much affected by his father's visit, 
and when he was gone out into the night, the earl 
lifted his voice in prayer to Him whose captain he 
accounted himself, asking for aid in the morrow's 
conflict against the usurper. Then he lay down 
to rest, and dreamed peacefully of the happiness 
which he hoped was to be his. But King Richard, 
whose tent was not far away, went to bed without 
prayer and slept without rest. 

For when these two rivals for England's throne 
had been long abed and slumbered each accord- 
ing to his deserts, there arose a vision of Prince 
Edward, son to Henry the Sixth, between their 
tents, which slowly turned towards where the king 
lay, saying gravely, ' ' Let me sit heavy on thy 
soul to-morrow. Think how thou stabb'dst me in 
my prime of youth at Tewksbury. Despair, there- 
fore, and die!" But toward Richmond the ghost 
turned with words of cheer, saying the wronged 
souls of butchered princes would fight in his be- 
half Then there arose another vision like to King 
Henry the Sixth, which bid Richard think on the 
Tower and him, saying, "Harry the Sixth bids 
thee despair and die!" This ghost also turned 
to Richmond, calling him virtuous and holy and 
bidding him conquer. In its turn the ghost of 
Clarence arose with like words of reproach for 
the king and of hope for Richmond; then came 
the spirits of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan, kinsmen 



KING RICHARD III. IO9 

of Queen Elizabeth; of Hastings, of the two young 
princes, sons of King Edward; of Queen Anne, 
wife to Richard; and lastly, of the Duke of Bucking- 
ham, the first that helped Richard to the crown and 
the last to feel his tyranny. These appalling ghosts 
looked with sad reproaches upon the usurper, then 
suddenly vanished ; upon which King Richard 
started out of his dream crying, * ' Give me another 
horse, — bind up my wounds, — have mercy, Jesu!" 
But in another instant his courage prevailed, and 
he muttered that he did but dream, saying at last 
aloud, ' ' O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict 
me!" 

Yet the lights burned blue about his tent, for it 
was now the dead of midnight, and presently cold, 
fearful drops stood on his trembling flesh, and his 
heart accused him with a thousand several tongues, 
every tongue bringing in a several tale, and every 
tale condemning him for a villain. Despair seized 
upon him in that awful moment. There was, he 
said, no creature who loved him, and if he died, 
no soul would pity him. ' ' Methought the souls 
of all that I had murdered came to my tent, and 
every one did threat to-morrow's vengeance on 
the head of Richard." Thus he moaned to him- 
self, while Ratcliff, who slept near at hand, came 
in, saying the early village cock had twice done 
salutation to the morning, and he told the king 
his friends were up and buckling on their armor. 
**0 Ratcliff," said Richard, "I have dreamed a 
fearful dream !" and he asked if Ratcliff thought 

10 



no TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

all their friends would prove true. ' * Nay, my good 
lord, be not afraid of shadows," said the soldier. 
But the king was nevertheless sore afraid. He 
said, " By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night have 
struck more terror to the soul of Richard than can 
the substance of ten thousand soldiers, armed in 
proof and led by shallow Richmond. ' ' Then, true 
to his suspicious nature, he bid Ratcliff go with 
him to play the eavesdropper under his tents, to 
hear if any of his soldiers meant to shrink from 
him. 

The waking of Richmond was as cheerful and 
full of promise as was Richard's grim and ominous. 
The several lords came into his tent and greeted 
him with a good-morrow, to arouse him from his 
lingering sleep. ' ' ' Cry mercy, lords, ' ' he said, 
cheerly, ' ' that you have taken a tardy sluggard 
here. ' ' They asked him how he had slept, and he 
said he had had * ' the sweetest sleep and fairest- 
boding dreams that ever entered in a drowsy head, 
Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard 
murdered, came to my tent, and cried, ' On ! vic- 
tory!' " He promised his friends that his heart 
was very jocund, and asked how far into the 
morning it was. When they told him upon the 
stroke of four, he said it was time to arm, and he 
arose to give direction to his forces. 

King Richard, on his side, also called up his 
men to arms, and bid one go to summon Lord 
Stanley to bring his power to the fight. The mes- 
senger returned anon, saying that Stanley denied 



KING RICHARD III. Ill 

to come. ** Off with his son George's head!" 
cried the enraged king; but before the command 
could be obeyed news came that the enemy had 
passed the marsh and were close upon them. This 
aroused in Richard all the prowess of his warlike 
family. * ' A thousand hearts are great within my 
bosom!" he cried, and ordered his standards to 
advance and the onset to begin. 

But though King Richard that day enacted more 
wonders than a man, though he fought on foot 
when his horse was slain and sought for Richmond 
in the throat of death, yet his cause was lost; and 
at last, rushing in upon Norfolk and Catesby, he 
cried, ' ' A horse, a horse ! my kingdom for a 
horse !' ' Catesby prayed him to withdraw ; but 
Richard called him slave, and said he had set his 
life upon a cast and he would stand the hazard 
of the die. ' ' I think there be six Richmonds in 
the field," quoth he. " Five I have slain to-day 
instead of him," and once again he called for a 
horse. 

But at this juncture the true Richmond, who 
for safety had armed five knights in armor like his 
own, came in sight, and immediately he and the 
king fell to fighting, when, after several blows 
between them, Richard was slain. 

* * God and our arms be praised, victorious 
friends!" cried the devout Richmond upon thus 
vanquishing his and England's foe; and Stanley, 
snatching the crown from Richard's brow, placed 
it upon the head of the Earl of Richmond, saying, 



112 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

' ' Lo here these long-usurped royalties have I 
plucked off from the dead temples of this bloody- 
wretch to grace thy brows withal. Wear it, enjoy 
it, and make much of it." 

Richmond gave thanks to God, and then asked, 
anxiously, if his brother, George Stanley, were 
living. His father assured him that he was safe 
in Leicester town ; whither, he said, if the earl 
pleased, they should also withdraw them. 

Richmond was well pleased with this; and giving 
orders for the burial of his fallen soldiers, he said 
that, having taken the sacrament, he would, by 
marrying King Edward's daughter, unite at last 
the white rose and the red, and end the divisions 
which had long rent the kingdom, so that here- 
after the time should be enriched with smiling 
plenty and fair prosperous days. 




KING HENRY VIII. 



CARDINAL WOLSEY, who had risen from a 
. butcher' s son to be the Archbishop of York 
and the favourite of King Henry the Eighth, had, 
at the time when this history opens, reached the 
height of his power. He Hved in royal magnifi- 
cence outrivaUing the king himself, and could, with 
his vast influence in Henry's counsels and with the 
power gained by his sagacious and crafty methods 
of governing the kingdom, do what he would with 
the king's subjects high and low. In all this his 
sovereign indulged him without question, for he 
had a perfect faith in the lord cardinal's honesty, 
and valued much his wisdom in affairs. 

It was therefore not strange that Cardinal Wol- 
sey should have many enemies, for a king's- love 
is a danger as well as a grace, begetting in rivals 
and lesser lords a jealousy which overcomes con- 
science. 

Among the powerful foes which the cardinal's 

ambition had won for him, the foremost was the 

Duke of Buckingham, who, proud of his own noble 

birth and rich in hereditary possessions, was in- 

IV. — h 10* 113 



114 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

censed that one of such mean extraction and small 
belongings should supplant him in the king's 
favor. 

Buckingham, being of an impulsive and out- 
spoken nature, could not conceal his hatred of Car- 
dinal Wolsey, but the crafty cardinal knew better 
how to work out his enmities in secret, and he set 
spies to watch this haughty duke, who discovered 
a small fault, which, by false witnesses and the 
insinuations of the cardinal, was soon magnified 
into a grave treason against the crown. 

For this the king, notwithstanding his love for 
Buckingham and his great qualities of mind, con- 
demned him, after a trial in which he failed to clear 
himself, to execution upon the block. 

But Buckingham had been the close friend of 
King Henry's queen, Katharine, and she had made 
earnest entreaties of his majesty to save the duke's 
life, hinting at the same time that it was through 
the malice of Cardinal Wolsey that he was come 
to such sad estate. She also begged King Henry 
to examine into the oppressive taxes which the 
cardinal had, unknown to the king, imposed upon 
his subjects; and all this wounded the pride of the 
great prelate, who was also the lord chancellor of 
the realm, so that in his heart he resolved to cast 
the queen down from her high place and bring her 
to shame. 

Now, it was rumoured at this time that the king 
had begun to take notice of one of the queen's 
ladies-in-waiting named Anne BuUen, and this lady, 



KING HENRY VIII. II5 

with many more noble dames and lords, the car- 
dinal one night invited to a great banquet at his pal- 
ace. This palace of York Place, as it was called, 
was a lordly house, fit for the king himself, and in 
it the one-time butcher's son, who was now the 
most powerful lord in England, had collected all 
the costly luxuries and rich furnitures which the 
world afforded. He kept a state almost equal to 
his master's, and his servants and followers were 
nobles of the realm. 

When, on this occasion, the guests were all 
arrived, Sir Henry Guildford saluted them in 
Cardinal Wolsey's name, saying his grace dedi- 
cated that night to fair content, and to them, hoping 
none there had brought one care abroad. Then, 
when they were placed at table, and gallants and 
ladies began pretty speeches and pleasant laughter, 
the cardinal, attended by his servants, came grandly 
in and took his seat under a canopy of state, where 
was a small table for himself alone. ' ' You are 
welcome, my fair guests," he said, and to confirm 
his welcome he drank to the good health of all 
there. Lord Sands, who sat next Anne Bullen, 
called for such a bowl as might hold his thanks and 
save him so much talking ; and the cardinal said 
he was beholden to him, bidding him cheer his 
neighbours. * ' Ladies, you are not merry, ' ' quoth 
he. Lord Sands gaily said the red wine must first 
rise in their fair cheeks, and then they would talk 
the men to silence. Upon this Lady Anne said 
his lordship was a merry gamester ; and in return 



Il6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

he pledged her, bidding his grace, the host, mark 
that he had said they would talk anon. 

But as all went on thus happily, there came a 
sudden sound of drums and trumpets without 
doors, then the discharge of firearms. *' What's 
that?" asked the cardinal; and his chamberlain bid 
one look out and see what had happened. The 
cardinal, meanwhile, reassured the ladies with a 
pleasant jest, bidding them to fear not, for they 
were privileged by all the laws of war. 

When the servant came back, he said that the 
noise was made by a noble troop of strangers who 
had left their barge and landed, making thither 
like great ambassadors from foreign princes. Wol- 
sey sent his lord chamberlain to give them wel- 
come and he commanded him to receive them 
nobly, and conduct them into his presence, 
where the heaven of beauty at his board should 
shine at full upon them. "Some attend him," he 
added; and as the chamberlain and his attendants 
went forth, all the guests arose and the tables were 
removed. "You have now a broken banquet," 
said his grace, "but we'll mend it;" and as he 
promised this, the maskers came in amid the sounds 
of music. There were thirteen in the band, habited 
like shepherds, and with them came sixteen torch- 
bearers gaily dressed, and led by the lord cham- 
berlain. They passed directly before Cardinal 
Wolsey and gracefully saluted him. "A noble 
company," said he to the chamberlain, and he 
asked what were their pleasures. The chamber- 



KING HENRY VIII. II 7 

lain replied that because they spoke no English 
they prayed him to tell his grace that having heard 
by fame of the so noble and fair assembly to meet 
there that night, they could do no less, out of the 
great respect they bore to beauty, but desert their 
flocks, and crave leave to view the ladies and 
entreat an hour of revel with them. The cardinal 
bid the chamberlain reply that the strangers had 
done his poor house a grace for which he paid 
them a thousand thanks and prayed them take 
their pleasures. Then each shepherd chose a lady 
for the dance, a certain tall and courtly swain 
choosing Mistress Anne Bullen, to whom he whis- 
pered, as he took her hand, ' ' The fairest hand I 
ever touched ! O beauty, till now I never knew 
thee. ' ' Seeing this. Cardinal Wolsey bid the cham- 
berlain go tell the strangers from him that he con- 
ceived there was one among them more worthy of 
the place he sat in than himself, to whom, if he 
but knew him, he would surrender it, with his love 
and duty. 

They confessed there was such a one among 
them; but, the more to prolong the mirth, they 
challenged the cardinal to find him out, and he 
would take the proffered seat. ' ' Let me see, 
then," said the cardinal, pretending he did not well 
know beforehand who his visitors were. * ' By all 
your leaves, good gentlemen, ' ' he continued, scan- 
ning the group, " here I'll make my royal choice." 

Then the king, for it was he whom Wolsey had 
selected, took off his mask and said, with a great 



Il8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

laugh, ''You have found him, cardinal!" and he 
praised his chancellor's fair assembly, saying he 
did well, for he was a churchman, or else he had 
judged unhappily of him for such levity. 

Drawing the cardinal aside, yet still keeping his 
eyes upon Mistress Anne Bullen, the king asked, 
' ' What fair lady is that ?' ' The cardinal told him 
it was Sir Thomas Bullen' s daughter, one of the 
queen's women. "By heaven, she is a dainty 
one," quoth King Henry ; and approaching her, 
he said aloud, * ' Sweetheart, I were unmannerly to 
take you out and not to kiss you," then, giving her 
a buss upon the lips, he lifted his glass, and called 
out, "A health, gentlemen. Let it go round." 
By this the banquet was ready in the privy cham- 
ber, and all the company withdrew thither, the 
king leading in Lady Anne, to whom he whispered 
many soft and flattering words. 

Now it proved afterwards that the cardinal had 
in all this planned even against his own designs, 
for though, to satisfy his spite against the queen, 
he slyly set afloat rumours of the king' s separation 
from her, yet his choice of a consort to take her 
place had fallen, for politic reasons, upon the 
French king's sister and by no means on this 
humble lady of the court. But as yet he was un- 
aware of the deep impression made on the king's 
heart by the beautiful Anne Bullen, and day by 
day he continued his covert circulation of gossip 
about the queen, thus unwittingly aiding the king 
to elevate Lady Anne to the throne. King Henry 



KING HENRY VIII. II9 

angrily sent to the lord mayor to have the rumours 
of his divorce denied, yet possessing, as they did, 
a morsel of truth and being industriously spread 
in spite of the king, it was known before very long 
that his majesty really did mean to put his faithful 
spouse and noble queen from him. 

In order to give this separation a show of legal 
justice the cardinal had contrived to bring to his 
aid the power of the pope at Rome, who now sent 
to England, as his representative in the business, 
Cardinal Campeius, and he, with Cardinal Wolsey, 
put forth all his craft to win the king from his 
loving queen through seeming duty to his faith. 

The great lords about the king saw well how his 
majesty was being made the tool of these cunning 
prelates; but they durst not utter their suspicions 
to King Henry, though they talked freely enough 
among themselves. ' * How holily he works in all 
his business!" said the Duke of Norfolk of Cardinal 
Wolsey, and he told how the haughty churchman 
had cracked the league between England and the 
emperor, who was the queen's nephew; and how 
he dived into the king's soul, there scattering 
dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, fears, 
and despairs about his marriage, and how, to re- 
store the king out of all these, he counselled a 
divorce. The duke, in his indignation, said that 
this meant a loss of her that, like a jewel, had 
hung about the king's neck for twenty years, yet 
never lost her lustre, of her that loved him with 
that excellence that angels love good men with, 



I20 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

even of her that when the greatest stroke of fortune 
should fall would still bless the king. At this the 
lord chamberlain prayed heaven to keep him from 
such counsel, and the Duke of Suffolk, that they 
might be freed from the cardinal's slavery. "We 
had need pray for our deliverance, and heartily, ' ' 
quoth Norfolk, ' ' or this imperious man will work 
us all from princes into pages." 

But the cardinal was not to be turned from his 
triumphant course by the frowns of his fellow-nobles, 
and he and the Cardinal Campeius plied the king 
with good reasons for his divorce, sure that they 
were but following his majesty's inclinations, and 
so pleasing him that no rival could supplant them 
in his favour. To this end they agreed with the 
king that the queen's trial should take place at 
Blackfriars, and the king bid Wolsey see that the 
place was properly furnished, and that Queen 
Katharine should have scholars allowed freely to 
argue for her, for he said it grieved him sore to 
leave so sweet a wife, but he added, ' ' Conscience, 
conscience, — O 'tis a tender place, and I must 
leave her:" for thus he feigned to himself to justify 
his ungrateful act. 

But in the mean time, before the trial took place, 
as Anne Bullen one day stood debating with an 
old lady of the court on the queen's sad fate, 
the lord chamberlain came to her from the king, 
saying that his majesty commended his good 
opinion to her and did propose the honour to her of 
creating her marchioness of Pembroke, to which 



KING HENRY VIII. 121 

title he had added, out of his grace, a thousand 
pound a year. This much surprised the Lady 
Anne, for she did not yet suspect the king's attach- 
ment to her. She besought his lordship to vouch- 
safe her thanks to his gracious majesty, and to 
give him her obedience as from a blushing hand- 
maid; and this the lord chamberlain gladly con- 
sented to do, for he had perused her well, and he 
inwardly thought that beauty and honour were so 
mingled in her that it was no wonder they had 
caught the king. 

But that his majesty was deeply smitten by the 
beauty of his new favourite was a matter beyond 
dispute, and he allowed the cardinal to carry for- 
ward the preparations for the queen's trial with 
relentless haste. When the day arrived, the king 
entered the hall in Blackfriars with great ceremony, 
attended by all his officers of state in their prince- 
liest array. He took his seat under the cloth of 
state, and the two cardinals sat below him as judges. 
Presently the queen, followed by her train, also 
came in, and took a seat at some distance from 
the king. The bishops placed themselves on 
either side in manner of a court of law, and be- 
low them sat the scribes, while the court and the 
rest of the attendants stood in convenient order, 
about them. 

The scribe bid the crier summon the king, who 
answered; and then the queen, in turn; but she 
kept silent, only rising from her chair and going to 
the king before whom she knelt. ''O sir," she 

F II 



122 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

said, "do me right and justice and bestow your 
pity on me, for I am a most poor woman and a 
stranger born out of your dominions, having here 
no impartial judge, nor no more assurance of equal 
friendship and proceeding." Then she asked him 
pathetically to tell her in what she had offended 
him, what cause her behaviour had given for his 
displeasure, that thus he should put her off and 
take his good grace from her ? She called heaven 
to witness that she had been a true and humble 
wife to him, and asked, when was the hour she had 
ever contradicted his desire, or which of his friends 
had she not striven to love although she knew he 
was her enemy ? And she called to his mind that 
she had been his wife in such obedience for twenty 
years and had been blest with many children by 
him ; wherefore she humbly besought him to spare 
her till she might be advised by her friends in 
Spain, whose counsel, she said, she would implore; 
but if he would not, she dutifully said his pleasure 
should, in the name of God, be fulfilled. 

The cardinal saw that the queen's prayer made 
a deep effect upon the king, and he strove to pre- 
vent delay by telling her that the reverend fathers 
who had been chosen to plead her cause were men 
of singular integrity and learning, and it would 
therefore be bootless for her to desire the postpone- 
ment of the trial. In this Wolsey was supported 
by the cardinal from Rome; but Queen Katharine 
did not heed him, but turned to Wolsey, saying, 
' ' Lord cardinal, to you I speak. " * * Your pleasure, 



KING HENRY VIII. 1 23 

madam," said he; and she then poured out upon 
him all the bitterness of her heart. " I do be- 
lieve," she said, " induced by potent circumstances, 
that you are mine enemy, and I make my challenge 
that you shall not be my judge; for it is you hath 
blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, which 
God's dew quench!" 

The cardinal was enraged, thus to be branded 
her foe before the whole court, and he inwardly 
chafed against her words, but he was too politic 
to show his enmity openly, and answered with 
measured syllables, that she spoke not like her- 
self "Madam," he said, "you do me wrong. I 
have no spleen against you, nor injustice for you, 
or any one. How far I have proceeded is war- 
ranted by a commission from the consistory of 
Rome." And, he said, his majesty being present, 
he might well punish him for falsehood if all he 
uttered were not true. She said she was a simple 
woman, much too weak to oppose his cunning, 
and that though he seemed full meek and humble, 
yet his heart was crammed with arrogance, spleen, 
and pride, for he had, by fortune and the king's 
favours, gone slightly over low steps and now was 
mounted where powers were his retainers. Again 
she refused him for her judge, and before all 
present appealed to the pope for judgment. She 
then courtesied to the king and offered to depart; 
but she was interrupted by the Roman cardinal 
who charged her with being obstinate and stubborn 
to justice; and as she continued to retire, the 



124 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

crier, at the king's command, called her again; 
but she went out in spite of them, and thus put 
them the more to shame and closed the trial. 
* * Go thy ways, Kate, ' ' said the king, with soften- 
ing heart, ' ' the man in the world who shall re- 
port he has a better wife, let him in nought be 
trusted." 

Cardinal Wolsey heard this with dismay, for the 
king's change of heart meant the overthrow not 
only of his ambitions but of all his power, and he 
rose and made an appeal to his majesty that he 
should please to declare in the hearing of all pres- 
ent whether he had broached this business to 
the king, or if he had not rather laid scruples in 
the king's way which might induce his majesty 
to question it; or if he had ever spoken the least 
word that might prejudice the queen in her hus- 
band's eyes. 

As the politic cardinal had been most guarded in 
all he did, working rather through others and by 
insinuation than by any direct measures which 
might bring him into suspicion, the king was well 
within the truth in saying that Wolsey was in no 
wise to blame; and his majesty then told how 
his conscience had first received a tenderness, 
scruple, or prick, that it was not well for him to 
have wedded his dead brother's wife. It grew, 
he said, out of certain speeches uttered by the 
Bishop of Bayonne, then the French ambassador, 
who had been sent thither on the debating a mar- 
riage between the Duke of Orleans and his daugh- 



KING HENRY VIII. I25 

ter Mary; for in the progress of this business the 
bishop had asked a respite, wherein he might 
determine whether the Princess Mary were le- 
gitimate respecting the king's marriage with the 
dowager, sometime the wife of his brother. And 
King Henry was, he said, the more urged to 
think upon this, because, seeing his queen had 
never given him a male child, he began to be- 
lieve there was a judgment on him. He then 
weighed the danger that his realms stood in by 
this failure of his issue and this gave him many 
a groaning throe. Hence he steered, he said, 
towards this remedy to his conscience. He then 
appealed to several of the prelates whom he had 
consulted upon the matter, and thus Cardinal 
Wolsey, who had inflamed if not invented the dis- 
cord, was freed from blame. 

The court was now broken up, and the king and 
his nobles departed; but deep within himself the 
king began to perceive that the cardinals trifled 
with him, keeping him from his object by dilatory 
sloth and tricks of Rome, and he resolved to recall 
his learned and well-beloved Cranmer to him, for 
with this prelate's approach he knew his comfort 
came along. 

By some strange fatality, shortly after this Car- 
dinal Wolsey committed a grave error which finally 
cost him the king's favour and the loss of all his 
dignities and possessions; for, in sending a packet 
of papers to his majesty, he, by strange negligence, 
put in it the account of all the world of wealth he 

II* 



126 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

had drawn together to gain the popedom and fee 
his friends at Rome; and, worse even than this, 
he accidentally included a letter from himself to 
the pope wherein he had entreated his holiness 
to stay the judgment of the divorce: *'for," said 
the letter, " I do perceive my king is tangled in 
affection to a creature of the queen's. Lady Anne 
Bullen." 

When King Henry had opened these papers he 
read with amazement of the piles of wealth the 
chancellor had accumulated to his own portion, 
and wondered how, in the name of thrift, he had 
raked this all together. Coming into his ante- 
chamber when the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk 
were whispering together of this same subject, he 
asked them if they had seen the cardinal. They 
said they had, for he had just left them, and told 
him some strange commotion seemed to stir his 
brain, for, quoth they, he bit his lips and started, 
stopped on a sudden, and looked upon the ground, 
showing all the signs of a troubled spirit. ' * It 
may well be," said the king, and he told them of 
the papers he had just read. 

But the cardinal's agitation was caused by rumour 
of the king's wedding with Anne Bullen, and by 
the rise in royal favour of Cranmer, whom Wolsey 
began to fear. He had not yet learned of the 
mistake he had made with the papers, so that 
when the king sent for him, he came into his 
presence with his wonted gravity. * ' Heaven for- 
give me!' ' quoth he. ' ' Ever God bless your high- 



KING HENRY VIII. 1 27 

ness !' ' But the king made a light answer. * ' Good 
my lord," he said, " you are full of heavenly stuff, 
and bear the inventory of your best graces in your 
mind. I presume that, as my hand has opened 
bounty to you, my heart dropped love, my power 
rained honour more on you than any, so your hand 
and heart and your brain should be more to me, 
your friend, than any." The cardinal professed 
he had ever laboured for his highness' good more 
than his own; and though the whole world should 
crack their duty to him, yet his loyalty should 
stand unshaken. 

The king said this was nobly spoken, and he 
called upon the lords about him to take notice 
that the cardinal had a loyal breast, for they had 
seen him open it. Then he handed Wolsey, one 
by one, the papers he had been reading, and told 
him that after he had perused them he could go 
to breakfast with what appetite he might have. 
He went out with a frown upon his late favourite, 
and all the nobles, smiling and whispering at the 
cardinal's discomfiture, thronged after him. 

Wolsey looked into the papers the king had 
given him for an explanation of his majesty's sud- 
den anger, and there he learned his fatal mistake. 
"Nay, then, farewell!" he murmured. "I have 
touched the highest point of all my greatness, and 
from that full meridian of my glory I haste now 
to my setting." 

As the cardinal mused thus, the Dukes of Nor- 
folk and Suffolk, with the Earl of Surrey and the 



128 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

lord chamberlain, came back from the king and 
bid him hear his majesty's pleasure; which was 
that he should render up at once into their hands 
the great seal, and that till he heard further from 
the king he should confine himself to Asher- 
house. Wolsey frowned grimly upon them, and 
asked where was their commission, for words 
could not, he said, carry authority so weighty; 
and as they could give nothing but the king's 
spoken commands, the cardinal refused to heed 
them. This brought hot words from the nobles, 
who openly charged the prelate with all the wrongs 
he was known to have committed, which hitherto 
they had been withheld from uttering by his great 
power to do them harm. They further told him 
that the king's pleasure was that, because all those 
things he had done of late by his power as legate 
fell within the compass of the law, he should for- 
feit all his goods, lands, tenements, and what- 
soever he possessed, and that he should be out 
of the king's protection. "And so," said Nor- 
folk, "we'll leave you to your meditations how 
to live better;" upon which they parted from 
him, who in his heart felt all the bitterness of 
a ruined man. ' ' Farewell, a long farewell to 
all my greatness," he moaned, and he thought 
how this was the state of man: To-day to put 
forth the tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blos- 
som, and bear his blushing honours thick upon 
him; the third day comes a killing frost and — 
when he thinks, good easy man, full surely his 



KING HENRY VIII. 1 29 

greatness is a-ripening — nips his root, and then 
he falls. 

But his thoughts were interrupted by the entrance 
of Cromwell, his servant, to whom he told what 
had happened, saying the king had cured him and 
given him a peace above all earthly dignities, a 
still and quiet conscience, having plucked from his 
shoulders a load that would sink a navy. Crom- 
well told him that Sir Thomas More had already 
been chosen lord chancellor in his stead ; that 
Cranmer had returned to the king and had been 
installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury; and, 
lastly, that the Lady Anne, whom the king had 
in secrecy long ago married, was that day openly 
acknowledged as his queen, and the public gossip 
was now only about her coronation. * * There was 
the weight that pulled me down, ' ' muttered Wol- 
sey. *'0 Cromwell, the king has gone beyond 
me; I have lost all my glories in that one woman 
forever;" and he bid his servant go from him, 
for he was but a poor fallen man, and advised 
him to seek the king, who he said would advance 
him. Cromwell was loyal to the last, grieving to 
desert so good a master, and this brought tears 
to the eyes of the cardinal, for among all those 
who had received his favours this was the only 
one who showed him pity. He bid Cromwell, 
therefore, to rise, but to shun the ways he had 
trod. ** Cromwell," he said, "I charge thee to 
fling away ambition. By that sin fell the angels; 
how can man, then, the image of his Maker, hope 
IV. — i 



130 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

to win by it? Love thyself last; cherish those 
hearts that hate thee;" and with this good counsel 
and much more that was wrung from his broken 
mind, the cardinal bid Cromwell lead him in, and 
there take an inventory of all he possessed, for it 
was the king's. His robe, he said, and his integ- 
rity to Heaven was all he durst now call his own. 
At length he broke out, ' ' O Cromwell, Crom- 
well, had I but served my God with half the zeal 
I served my king, he would not in mine age have 
left me naked to mine enemies!" and with this 
last wail of a broken heart he gave up all his 
earthly possessions to the crown. 

While this was happening in the palace the 
queen's case was proceeding elsewhere. Cranmer, 
now the Archbishop of Canterbury, in whom the 
king felt he could confide, held a court, with cer- 
tain other learned and reverend fathers of his order, 
at Dunstable, six miles off from Ampthill, where the 
queen lay. But though she was repeatedly sum- 
moned to their presence, she refused to appear, 
for which, and because of the king's late scruple, 
by the assent of all these learned men she was 
declared divorced and her marriage made of no 
effect. After this the queen was removed to Kim- 
bolton, where she remained sick from her heavy 
trials. 

The king, however, took little count of this, but 
pushed forward eagerly the coronation of his new 
queen, the Lady Anne Bullen, who was greeted 
with happy shouts of welcome when she went with 



KING HENRY VIII. I3I 

King Henry to Westminster Abbey to receive the 
crown. One spectator said to his neighbour that 
she had the sweetest face he ever looked on; and 
another, with words of praise for her modesty, told 
how she came to the altar and took the emblems 
of her majesty, then parted and, with the same 
full state as when coming, paced back again to 
York-place, where the feast was held. His neigh- 
bour chid him for calHng it York-place, for that had 
passed with Wolsey. Since he fell, so said the gos- 
sip, that title was lost. The place was now the 
king's, and called Whitehall. 

Cardinal Wolsey did not long survive his down- 
fall, for he was arrested at York by the stout Earl 
of Northumberland, and when he was brought for- 
ward to answer the charges against him, he grew 
so ill that he could not sit his mule. At last, with 
easy roads he came to Leicester and lodged in 
the abbey, where the reverend abbot with all his 
convent honourably received him, to whom he 
spoke his woes, and begged that he might lay his 
bones among them, asking a little earth for charity. 
So he went to bed, where his sickness eagerly 
pursued him, and three nights after this, about the 
hour of eight, which he himself foretold should be 
his last, full of repentance, continual meditations, 
tears, and sorrows, he gave his honours to the 
world again and delivered up his blessed part to 
heaven, and slept in peace. 

Thus humbly died this once-powerful lord, whose 
faults were many, as of ambition, of untruths and 



132 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

double-dealing, and of lack of pity; yet his virtues 
were greatly seen in his ripe and good scholarship, 
exceeding wisdom, sweetness to those he loved, 
and princely giving. 

But in the busy life of the court his fall was 
but the gossip of a week, and then the new favour- 
ites claimed the tongues of all. These were 
Cromwell, who, beside being made master of the 
Jewel-House, was created master of the rolls and 
the king's secretary; and Cranmer, who, said the 
courtiers, was become the king's hand and tongue, 
so much had he risen in the royal esteem, and 
none dared say one syllable against him. 

But Bishop Gardiner, who held to the strict doc- 
trines of Rome upon v/hich Cranmer was in opinion 
more free, was for this secretly the archbishop's 
enemy, and endeavoured to incense the lords 
of the king's council against him as a most arch 
heretic and, as he charged, a pestilence that did 
infect the mind. The council was something 
moved by Gardiner' s appeal, and the king seemed 
inclined to give ear to its complaint, for upon hear- 
ing it he commanded that Cranmer be called to the 
council-board on the morrow and there questioned 
upon his heresies. 

But this was merely a device of King Henry's 
the better to protect his favourite from the harm 
intended him by Gardiner. He secretly sent for 
Cranmer, and bid him walk a turn with him in the 
gallery while he unfolded the plot intended to do 
him injury. He said he had, most unwillingly, 



KING HENRY VI H. 



WVl (T^Y.AW \yh\K 



KING HENRY VIII. 1 33 

heard many grievous complaints of late against 
Cranmer, which, being considered, the council 
had moved that morning that he come before 
them, where, said the king, he feared the arch- 
bishop could not free himself so fully as to avoid 
going, till further trial, to the Tower. His maj- 
esty gave as his reason for this that Cranmer 
being, as it were, a brother of his, no witness 
would otherwise dare to give evidence against him. 
The archbishop kneeled upon hearing this, and 
said he was right glad to catch so good an occa- 
sion to be winnowed of his chaff, for he knew there 
was none stood under more calumnious tongues than 
himself The king bid him stand up, and said his 
truth and his integrity was rooted in him, his friend. 
Then again they walked to and fro, and King Henry 
warned Cranmer against his foes, saying he wooed 
his own destruction by not heeding better their 
crafty practices. Cranmer prayed God and his 
majesty to protect him; and the king bid him be of 
good cheer, for they should no more prevail against 
him than he give way to them. " Keep comfort 
to you," he said, "and this morning see you do 
appear before them ; if they shall chance to commit 
you, fail not to use the best persuasion to the con- 
trary; but if entreaties will render you no remedy, 
deliver them this ring, and make your appeal to 
us there before them." Cranmer humbly took 
the ring with tears in his eyes at his sovereign's 
grace; and King Henry vowed to him as they 
parted that he believed he was true at heart, 

12 



134 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

and that there was not a better soul in his king- 
dom. 

The next morning Cranmer appeared in the 
lobby before the council-chamber, and though he 
was a member of the council and it was his right 
to enter, yet the door-keeper denied him admit- 
tance, saying he must wait until he be called for. 
As the archbishop, with his wonted humility, re- 
solved to do as he was bid. Doctor Butts, the 
physician to the king, came by, and seeing him 
there, exclaimed that it was a piece of malice to 
keep him from his seat, and went speedily to the 
king with the news of the affront to his favourite. 
Cranmer, noting the doctor's keen look at him, 
feared he had discovered his disgrace that he, a 
fellow-chancellor, should be made to wait there 
among boys, grooms, and lackeys; but Butts di- 
vined the wrong done him and went straight to his 
majesty, whom he drew to a window and pointed 
out, as he said, the strangest sight his highness 
had seen this many a day. 

When the king saw Cranmer thus dishonoured at 
the door of the council-chamber, he was enraged 
at his council; but told Butts to let them alone and 
draw the curtains close, for they should hear more 
anon. 

Within doors the council was seated and pro- 
ceeding to business, with the lord chancellor at 
the head and Cromwell, as secretary, at the foot of 
the board. Presently they bid the archbishop to 
come in; and when he had approached the coun- 



KING HENRY VIII. 1 35 

cil-table, the lord chancellor charged him with 
misdemeaning himself towards the king and the 
laws in filling the whole realm with new opinions, 
divers and dangerous. Bishop Gardiner then took 
up the case and predicted commotions, and up- 
roars, with a general taint of the whole state, unless 
the archbishop should instantly reform. 

Cranmer, with much mildness of temper, denied 
that he intended heresy, and asked that his ac- 
cusers might be made to stand forth against him; 
whereupon the suggestion that the king had told 
him of, that he should go to the Tower, was made 
by his enemy Gardiner, for this vindictive prelate 
said they had business of more moment before 
them and must be short with him. At this, Cran- 
mer turned upon his assailant and told him he saw 
his purpose, which was his undoing, and he said 
love and meekness became a churchman better 
than ambition. Gardiner, in turn, accused him 
of being a sectary, at which Cromwell chided the 
bishop for his little respect, for 'twas, he said, 
cruelty to load a fallen man. Gardiner in turn 
charged the secretary with unsoundness of doc- 
trine, and Cromwell returned that he would the 
bishop were half as honest. 

Many angry speeches passed between the mem- 
bers of the council, and at last Gardiner said to 
Cranmer that it stood agreed by all the voices that 
he be conveyed a prisoner to the Tower, to remain 
there till the king's further pleasure be known, 
whereupon he called the guard, and the archbishop 



136 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

would have been taken away but that he now 
brought forth the king's ring and said, by that 
token he took his cause out of the gripes of cruel 
men and gave it to a most noble judge, the king, 
his master. 

There was no mistaking the ring, and all the 
council save Cromwell were seized with dismay 
at what they had done. The more to increase 
their fear, at this moment the king came in, and 
frowning upon them, took his seat at the board. 

Bishop Gardiner greeted his majesty with many 
flatteries and commendations; but he waved these 
aside, for, he said, in his presence they were too 
thin and base to hide offences. ''Good man, 
sit down," quoth he to Cranmer, who was still 
standing; and he dared the proudest there to but 
wag his finger at the archbishop, for such an one 
had better starve than but once think the place 
became him not. 

Thus thundering forth his anger his majesty 
brought his disobedient lords to his will, and he 
bid them respect the archbishop, take him and 
use him well, for if a prince might be beholden to 
a subject, he said he was, for his love and service. 

Then, when they had each embraced Cranmer 
at the king's command, and the angry contention 
was stilled, his majesty turned to the archbishop 
and told him that he had a suit which he hoped he 
would not deny him, which was that a certain fair 
young maid wanted baptism, and he would have 
Cranmer be godfather and answer for her. 



KING HENRY VIII. 1 37 

The archbishop joyfully assented to this, asking 
how a poor and humble subject might deserve such 
honour ? The fair young maid was a daughter of 
the king, who had just been born to him by Anne 
BuUen; and saying he longed to have this young 
one made a Christian, King Henry withdrew, 
with all the lords, to the christening of the Princess 
Elizabeth, who. Archbishop Cranmer said, with 
prophetic words, should shower upon England a 
thousand thousand blessings, for she should be a 
pattern to all princes living with her and all that 
should succeed, and he predicted for her a long and 
noble life, till, like a most unspotted lily, she should 
pass to the ground and all the world should mourn 
her. 




CORIOLANUS. 



IN the midst of an uprising of the people of 
Rome, who blamed the senate and the patri- 
cians because they suffered from hunger, there was, 
on a sudden, news brought to the elders that the 
Voices were in arms, and Cominius, the consul, 
with Titus Lartius and Caius Marcius, were chosen 
to lead the Roman forces against these rebels. 

This Caius Marcius was of noble birth, being the 
descendant of Numa, an early king of Rome; but 
he was in no wise dependent on this for his fame, 
but rather upon his great valour, for at sixteen years 
he had fought beyond the mark of others against 
the tyrant Tarquin, and made him kneel under his 
warlike blows, and since that time he had won the 
garland in seventeen battles against the enemies 
of Rome. 

He had, however, gained the reputation among 
the common people of Rome of being overbear- 
ing and proud; but this was not from vanity, but 
rather the expression of a noble spirit which would 
not condescend to advance his interests by flatteries 
and craft. Love for good men he always showed, 

139 



140 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

and help and kindliness; but he could not bring 
himself to pander to the wishes of the multitude, 
as politicians and leaders are often wont to do, 
and this made him unpopular with the turbulent 
citizens. 

But with the soldiers, Caius Marcius was ever a 
favourite, though he led them into desperate ven- 
tures and ruled them with unbending discipline; 
and this was because of his invincible courage and 
success, for he had never yet lost a battle. 

Among the Volcians there was a vaHant leader 
called Tullus Aufidius, and these two were mortal 
foes, though so great was the prowess of Aufidius 
that Marcius said, were half to half of the world 
by the ears and this soldier upon his party, he 
would revolt to make only his wars with him, for 
he was a lion he would be proud to hunt. 

Now, it fell out that these two warriors presently 
met before the Volcian city of Corioli in this wise: 
Marcius had led his soldiers against that city and 
they had been driven back, whereupon he scored 
them with bitter words, which brought them speed- 
ily to the attack once more. This time they forced 
the Voices to fly within their gates; but Marcius, 
who himself led his men, followed too closely upon 
the enemy' s heels, and still fighting single-handed, 
he was shut in with his foes. When his fellow-- 
leader, Titus Lartius, asked where he was and found 
he was imprisoned behind the gates, he gave him 
up for lost; but Marcius proved his valor by ap- 
pearing in a little space from the gates, still as^ 



CORIOLANUS. 141 

saulted by the enemy and sadly wounded. This 
sight moved all the courage in the Roman breasts, 
and they flew in haste to their captain's assistance, 
and presently brought him safely off. 

Marcius, all stained with blood from his many 
wounds, none of which happily were fatal, would 
not permit his friends to detain him with idle praise, 
but asked at once for Tullus Aufidius, saying he 
would seek him out and fight with him. This 
warrior was not among the Volci who defended 
Corioli; but, as it proved, he led the ranks which 
opposed the Roman general Cominius on the 
ground without the town. Marcius therefore hast- 
ened away to join Cominius, whom he soon found 
a mile away, but retreating before the Volci. 
When he came up with his fellow-leader, he was 
welcomed gladly, and Cominius told him that he 
was retiring rather to win his purpose than because 
of defeat. He then asked on which flank of the 
Volcian army Aufidius led, and learned that he 
was in command of the Antiates of their best trust. 
Marcius besought Cominius by all the battles in 
which they had fought together, by the vows of 
friendship they had sworn, that he directly set him 
in the field over against Aufidius and his Antiates, 
and that without delay he should open the battle 
anew. 

Cominius said that though he could wish his 
friend were conducted to a gentle bath and balms 
applied to his wounds, yet he dared never deny 
his asking, and he bid him take his choice of such 



142 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

soldiers as best could aid him, and pick the place 
he would in the front of the battle. 

When Marcius asked what men were most willing 
to bear him company in the action, the whole force 
shouted and waved their swords, cast up their caps, 
and strove to take him in their arms; but he said 
none should go save such as were able to bear 
against the great Aufidius a shield as hard as his 
own, and he selected the number he wanted, and 
with them marched on. 

In the midst of the fight which followed Marcius 
and Aufidius, after seeking each other for some 
time, finally met and gave defiance. '* I'll fight 
with none but thee, for I do hate thee worse than 
a promise-breaker," said Marcius ; and Aufidius 
returned that they hated alike, for Africa owned 
no serpent he abhorred more than Marcius' s fame. 
**Fix thy foot!" he shouted, and they set to, re- 
solved to die rather than yield; but in this they 
were thwarted by some Volcians, who flew to Au- 
fidius' s rescue and shamed him by their officious 
conduct. The fight between the champions was 
thus for the time postponed, and again, as more 
than thrice before, neither was certain victor, not- 
withstanding that Marcius seemed to have the 
advantage. 

But in the contest of the armies the Romans were 
undoubted conquerors. The city of Corioli had 
been taken by Lartius and Marcius, and Cominius 
and Marcius had triumphed in the field. His 
fellow-leaders were therefore fain to acknowledge 



CORIOLANUS. 143 

Marcius the hero of the fight, for, as said Cominius, 
if he told over to Marcius his own deeds of that 
day, he himself would not believe them, so noble 
and so valiant were they. 

To this Titus Lartius added his praise with- 
out limit, until Marcius in very shame to hear his 
virtues so celebrated cried out against it, saying he 
had done as the rest had done, which was what he 
could, induced, as they had been, by love of his 
country. Cominius said he should not bury his 
deserving within himself, for Rome must know the 
value of her own. Marcius said he had some 
wounds upon him and they smarted to hear them- 
selves remembered; but Cominius would not per- 
mit this modest estimate of himself, and he com- 
manded that of all the horses and treasure they 
had captured Marcius should be rendered a tenth, 
to be taken forth before the common distribution. 
This the brave warrior refused to do, saying he 
could not make his heart consent to take a bribe 
to pay his sword, whereupon the whole army in 
admiration of his generous spirit cast up their caps 
and lances, crying, ''Marcius! Marcius!" while 
Cominius and Lartius stood bare-headed out of 
respect for their noble fellow-leader. ' ' Too modest 
are you; more cruel to your good report than 
grateful to us that give you truly, ' ' said Cominius, 
and he insisted that it be known that Caius Mar- 
cius wore that war' s garland ; in token of which he 
gave him his noble steed with all his trim belong- 
ing; and he decreed that from that time forth, for 



144 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

what Marcius did at Corioli, he should ever be 
called Caius Marcius Coriolanus. 

The whole force triumphantly shouted out this 
name, but so loath was Marcius to hear his own 
praise that he went blushing away. Before he 
parted from Cominius, however, he asked a single 
favour, which was the freedom of his late host in 
Corioli, an old and poor man who had used him 
kindly in his house. He said he saw him prisoner 
when Lartius had taken the town, but then Au- 
fidius was within his view, and wrath had over- 
whelmed his pity. 

This request Cominius granted even before it 
was asked, but Marcius had forgot the poor man's 
name; and so, vexed at his folly, he went ponder- 
ing to his tent. 

Having thus conquered their foes, Cominius 
and his army marched straightway back to Rome, 
at whose gates they were received with much 
rejoicing and unbounded praise. In the midst 
of the triumphant procession came Coriolanus, 
crowned with an oaken garland; and when all had 
entered the city, Cominius began to tell of this 
warrior's great deeds of martial daring. 

* * Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus, ' ' 
shouted the glad multitudes, and they could not 
enough speak their delight in his achievements for 
his country and his people. But Marcius grew 
impatient at such outbursts, saying, ' * No more of 
this; it does offend my heart," and he prayed them 
again and again to cease the shouting. 



CORIOLANUS. 145 

Just at this moment his mother, Volumnia, ap- 
proached, and he immediately knelt before her. 
*' Nay, my good soldier, up!" she said, and asked, 
with a mother's pride, if she must now call him 
Coriolanus. His wife was also of the company, and 
she wept for joy to see him safely back, whereat 
he told her that the widows and mothers that 
lacked sons in Corioli wore such eyes, and he chid 
her gaily for her tears. 

Then he turned and welcomed all his friends; 
after which he parted with the Roman generals for 
the Capitol. When they had arrived thither and 
taken their seats, with the senators and the tribunes 
of the people about them, Menenius, an aged lord, 
arose and asked the most reverend and grave elders 
to desire the present consul, Cominius, to give his 
report of the worthy work performed by Coriolanus, 
whom, he said, they had met there both to thank 
and to endow with consular honours. The senators 
urged Cominius to speak, and requested the con- 
sent of the masters of the people to what they 
meant to do, upon which Sicinius and Brutus, the 
tribunes, arose in turn and favoured the choice of 
Coriolanus, but Brutus warned him that he must 
remember a kinder value of the people than he 
had hitherto shown. At this Coriolanus arose 
and offered to go; but a senator told him not to 
be ashamed to hear what he had so nobly done, 
and Brutus said he hoped his words had not driven 
him away. Coriolanus answered this last that he 
loved the people as they weighed; but he would 
TV. — G k 13 



146 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

not Stay, saying he had rather have some one 
scratch his head in the sun when the alarm were 
struck, than idly sit and have his nothings exag- 
gerated. Hence he went forth, and Menenius and 
Cominius then passed eulogies upon him, speaking 
his praise in every branch of war, until, at last, the 
senators called to have him back, and he returned 
to hear their will. ' ' The senate are well pleased to 
make thee consul," said Menenius; and Coriolanus 
answered that he owed them always his life and 
services. 

It then remained that the consul elected by the 
senate should be voted for by the people; but so 
distasteful was this to Coriolanus that he besought 
them to let him overleap that custom, for he said 
he could not put on the napless gown of humility 
and entreat the citizens for his wounds' sake to give 
him their suffrage. * * Sir, ' ' said Sicinius, sternly, 
for he was the people* s tribune, ' ' the people must 
have their voices; neither will they bate one jot of 
ceremony. ' ' 

Old Menenius, the friend of Coriolanus, implored 
him not to put them to this test, and he prayed him 
go fit himself to the custom, and take to him, as his 
predecessors had done, his honour with his form. 
Coriolanus said it was a part he should blush in 
acting, and that the right might well be taken from 
the people. ' ' Mark you that ?' ' exclaimed Brutus, 
the tribune, and when the senators had retired, 
he said to his fellow-tribune, Sicinius, ' * You see 
how he intends to use the people !" * ' May they 



CORIOLANUS. 147 

perceive his intent!" was the reply, for both these 
men hated Coriolanus for his success as well as for 
his pride, as is often the use towards nobler men of 
those who fatten upon the public spoils. 

In a brief space, however, Coriolanus was in- 
duced by Menenius and the senators to bow to the 
people's will, and he appeared in the market-place 
clothed in the gown of humility. Then the citi- 
zens, as was the custom, went up to him by ones 
and twos, and he made his request for the vote of 
each man who approached him. 

The hero of Corioli was little used to bend the 
knee to any one, and he was most awkward in all 
his actions towards these Roman citizens whom he 
so despised. "Bid them wash their faces and keep 
their teeth clean," he said to Menenius; and as 
two men came up to him he said, ' ' You know the 
cause, sir, of my standing here?" The citizens 
answered that they did, but asked him to tell them 
what had brought him to it. " Mine own desert, 
and not mine own desire," said Coriolanus, boldly. 
"How!" exclaimed the citizens unused to such 
frankness in one who solicited their votes; and 
they told him that if they gave him anything they 
hoped to gain by him, and hence their desire 
to know his virtues. "Well, then," said Corio- 
lanus, abruptly, * ' I pray you the price of the con- 
sulship ?" " The price is to ask it kindly, ' ' answered 
one of the citizens. " Kindly, sir, then," said the 
warrior, "I pray let me have it; I have wounds 
to show you in private." And with this the citi- 



148 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

zens were well pleased and said that he should 
have it. 

Others came up to him in turn, who praised his 
loyalty and valour or objected that he had not loved 
the common people, and he answered all alike with 
a defiant candour which would have quite ruined 
the chances of a lesser candidate. 

But, at last, Coriolanus stood out his limitation, 
and the tribunes duly declared that he had won 
the people's voice. It then remained only that 
he should meet the senate in his official robes, and 
with great rejoicing he took off his humble weeds 
and became himself again. 

But now the citizens, who in the presence of this 
valiant soldier had given their votes, became em- 
boldened in his absence to gainsay them, and they 
went to the tribunes with their complaints against 
him for his irreverent manner of asking their voices 
as well as for his long-known enmity against them. 

This the tribunes were only too glad to heed, 
and they bid the citizens get hence instantly and 
tell all who would, to assemble and revoke the 
ignorant election, for that Coriolanus was not yet 
confirmed by the senate, and, if they hastened, they 
could be beforehand with that ceremony. ' ' Say 
you never had done it but by our putting on," 
quoth the crafty Brutus; "and presently, when you 
have drawn your number together, repair to the 
Capitol." *' We will sol" cried the citizens, and 
each party went its several way, the tribunes go- 
ing straightway to the CapitoL 



CORIOLANUS. 149 

As Coriolanus and Lartlus, who was newly re- 
turned from Corioli, spoke together in the street, 
Lartius told him that the Voices had gathered new 
head, being ready, when time should prompt them, 
to make road again upon Rome; but as, at this 
moment, Sicinius and Brutus approached them, 
Coriolanus cried, " Behold! these are the tribunes 
of the people, the tongues of the common mouth;" 
and he told Lartius how he despised them, * ' Pass 
no further!" said Sicinius, warningly, with out- 
stretched hand. '' Ha! what is that?" asked Cori- 
olanus, enraged at the interference. ' * It will be 
dangerous to go on; no further," said the tribune. 

Here the senators and patricians who stood near 
bid the tribunes give way, saying that Coriolanus 
should go to the market-place. ^ * The people are 
incensed against him," cried Brutus; and Sicinius 
bid them stop or all would be in a broil. Corio- 
lanus boldly charged the tribunes with having set 
the people on. ' ' It is a purposed thing, and 
grows by plot, to curb the willof the nobility!" he 
cried. To this Brutus responded in like bitter 
terms, and anger grew on each side, until, with 
taunts and reproaches and galling truths, Corio- 
lanus condemned the rabble for their base hatred 
of what was worthy in the commonwealth, and 
called upon those who preferred a noble life to a 
long one, to pluck out the multitudinous tongue, 
and let them not lick the sweet which was their 
poison. Upon hearing this fearless speech, the 
tribunes cried ' ' Enough, ' ' and charged Coriolanus 

13* 



150 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

with being a traitor, who, they said, should answer 
as traitors do ; and they summoned the sediles, their 
officers, and bid them apprehend him. Sicinius sent 
Brutus to call the people, and presently he returned 
with a rabble of citizens, crying, ' ' Down with him ! 
down with him!" The senators called in their turn 
for weapons, and then arose a babble of voices and 
clash of arms, which was stilled at last by Brutus, 
who shouted to the aediles to lay hands upon Corio- 
lanus and cast him from the Tarpeian rock. ' ' No; 
I'll die here!" said the warrior, drawing his sword; 
and he defied those who had ever beheld him fight- 
ing in the field to cross swords with him now. 

Again there arose a confusion of voices and 
blows, during which the tribunes and their party 
were beaten back, and the friends of Coriolanus 
urged him to retreat to his house or all would be 
naught in Rome. On fair ground, the warrior said 
he could beat forty of them; but finally the prudent 
counsel of the elders prevailed, and Coriolanus 
parted for his home. When he had gone, one of 
the patricians said that he had marred his own for- 
tune; but Menenius, his friend, said that his nature 
was too noble, for he would not flatter Neptune for 
his trident. *'His heart's in his mouth," quoth 
he; ** what his breast forges that his tongue must 
vent; and, being angry, he forgets that ever he 
heard the name of death." 

But now Brutus and Sicinius, with a great rabble 
of citizens, came up, and Sicinius cried out, ''Where 
is the viper that would depopulate the city, and 



CORIOLANUS. 151 

be every man himself?" Menenius tried to ease 
their anger by fair words, but they vowed that 
Coriolanus should be thrown from the Tarpeian 
rock; and because the old lord spoke of him as 
consul, the citizens burst forth in loud protest; 
and Sicinius said it was decreed he should die that 
same night. 

Thus the argument was bandied between the 
warrior's friends and enemies until the tribunes 
declared they would hear no more, and they bid 
the people pursue him to his house ; but Menenius 
prayed leave to go to him, saying that he would 
bring him in peace to them, where he should an- 
swer by a lawful form to his utmost peril. This 
plan was accepted by the people, and they laid 
down their weapons, agreeing to meet in the 
market-place, where, said they to Menenius, if he 
brought not Coriolanus they would proceed as 
they had at first declared. 

The noble soldier was very loath, even for the 
sake of Rome, to bend to the mob; and at first he 
said they might pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, 
that the precipitation might stretch down below the 
beam of his sight, yet he would still be as he was 
towards them. But his mother said she would 
he had put his power well on, ere he had worn it 
out; and she pleaded so wisely and temperately, 
showing him how he ought to dissemble with his 
nature when his fortune and his friends, being at 
stake, required he should, in honour, do so, that 
in the end she prevailed, and he consented to go 



15^ TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

to the people in the market-place and to use the 
wise counsel she gave him in framing his politic 
speech to them. 

In the mean time Brutus and Sicinius, who de- 
sired nothing so much as the downfall of Corio- 
lanus, though they concealed their purpose with 
fair words, had arranged with certain citizens that 
when he appeared before them they should cry 
for a fine, or banishment, or death, as the chance 
might happen; and they bid them straight put 
Coriolanus into choler, for he had been used ever 
to conquer, and, being chafed, he could not be 
reined again to temperance, but would speak what 
was in his heart, and through this they might break 
his neck. 

When Goriolanus, accompanied by the senators 
and patricians, came into the market-place, he was 
confronted by the tribunes, the aediles, and a ho-^t 
of the citizens, and Sicinius at once demanded of 
him if he would submit to the people's voices, ac- 
knowledge their officers, and be content to suffer 
lawful censure for such faults as were proved upon 
him. Coriolanus said he was content, and Mene- 
nius, ever ready with his support, seconded the 
warrior's voice and touched upon his wounds and 
warlike services. 

Coriolanus then with some haughtiness asked 
why it was that, being passed for consul, he was 
now so dishonoured. Sicinius charged him with 
an attempt to assume tyrannical power, for which 
he called him traitor. "How! traitor?'' exclaimed 



CORIOLANUS. 15^ 

the stout soldier, in instant rage; and, though his 
friends strove to soothe him and bate his anger, 
he roared forth a defiance at Sicinius, saying he 
Hed and calHng him an injurious tribune. '* Mark 
you this, people?" cried Sicinius, for it was the 
cue he had hoped for; and the citizens shouted 
out with one voice, "To the rock! to the rock!" 
Sicinius, however, bid them keep peace, and he 
said that though what Coriolanus had done and 
uttered deserved the extremest death, yet in the 
name of the people and in the power of the trib- 
unes he would pronounce a judgment of banish^ 
ment against him, even from that instant never 
more to enter the gates of Rome. The citizens 
approved of this with a great shout ; and though 
the friends of Coriolanus tried to stem the tide of 
their anger with soft speeches, yet the mob insisted 
on his banishment, and he staightway passed on to 
the gates of the city. 

Hither the banished warrior was followed by his 
mother and his wife, with a score of friends who 
came to take a sad farewell of him. He bid the 
weeping Volumnia resume that spirit when she 
was wont to say, if she had been the wife of Her- 
cules she would have done six of his labours for 
him; and he took a mournful leave of old Mene- 
nius and of Cominius, saying he would do well 
yet. Then, bidding all be of good cheer, for he 
would let them hear from him wherever he might 
be, he went forth into the open land. 

Now it happened that the force which the Vol- 



154 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

cians had been secretly gathering for a fresh attack 
against Rome was at this time complete; and when 
they heard of the banishment of their most dreaded 
foe, they rejoiced much at their good fortune, and 
made preparations to set out immediately upon 
the conquest. 

Again TuUus Aufidius was chosen to lead the Vol- 
cian armies, and on the night before his departure 
he gave a great banquet at his house in Antium, 
where all the chief lords of the land attended. 
But before the meal was well begun, a stranger, 
muffled and unkempt, presented himself at the 
door and asked admittance. The servants tried 
to drive away this intruder who interrupted their 
duties; but he was stronger than they and would 
not budge, but beat them roundly when they laid 
hands on him. 

At last they went to Aufidius with their com- 
plaints, and he came forth into the hall, much 
vexed that his feast should thus be interrupted. 
"Where is this fellow?" he asked; and when he 
saw the man he questioned whence he came, what 
he would have, and what his name was. The 
stranger was silent to all these questions, and until 
Aufidius grew more peremptory would say noth- 
ing. But at last he took the hood from his head 
and face, and asked if Aufidius knew him not. 
' * What is thy name ?' ' said Aufidius, failing to 
recognize him. * ' A name unmusical to Volcian 
ears," quoth the stranger. Then Aufidius again 
bid him to speak his name, for, said he, ' * Thou 



- CORIOLANUS. 155 

hast a grim appearance, and thy face bears a com- 
mand in it; and, though thy tackle's torn, thou 
showest a noble vessel. ' ' Then, at last, the stranger 
said, ' ' My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done 
to thee particularly, and to all the Voices, great 
hurt and mischief; thereto witness my surname, 
Coriolanus." And he told Aufidius how all his 
painful service, extreme dangers, and drops of 
blood shed for his thankless country had been re- 
quited with nothing save that surname; and he 
said that this extremity it was which had brought 
him to Aufidius' s hearth; not in hope to save his 
life, for if he had feared death he would have 
avoided of all men Aufidius, but in mere spite to 
be full quit of all his banishers. Wherefore he 
prayed the Volcian captain to make his misery 
serve his turn and so to use him that his revenge- 
ful services might prove as benefits to the Volcians; 
for, he said, he would fight against his cankered 
country with the spleen of all the under-fiends. 
But if Aufidius dared not to do this, then Corio- 
lanus was weary of living longer, and presented 
his throat, which not to cut would show his ancient 
enemy but a fool. 

"O Marcius, Marcius," cried Aufidius, taking 
his hands, ' ' each word thou hast spoken hath 
weeded a root of ancient envy from my heart!" 
And he twined his arms about the body of Corio- 
lanus, against which he said his spear of grained 
ash had an hundred times broken and scarred the 
moon with splinters. Then he bid the exile go in to 



156 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the feast and take the friendly senators by the hands 
who were now there taking their leaves of him, for 
he said he was prepared to make war against the 
Roman territories, though not against Rome itself 
He offered, moreover, that if Coriolanus would 
have the leading of his ow4i revenges, he might 
take one half of his commission and himself decide 
whether to knock against the gates of Rome or 
rudely visit them in parts remote to frighten, before 
destroying, them. 

Within the banqueting-room Coriolanus was re- 
ceived by the noble Volcians with much honour 
and set at the upper end of the table, where they 
stood bareheaded before him. They promptly 
decided that he should lead one half of their forces 
against the Roman territories, and Coriolanus 
agreed to go on the morrow, saying he would 
mow down whatever opposed him. 

In the mean time all was peaceful in Rome, and 
the tribunes were rejoiced at the happy issue of 
their banishment of Coriolanus, for the citizens 
blessed them and they grew mightily in the public 
esteem. 

But in the midst of their security there one day 
crept forth a rumour from a slave who had been 
made prisoner that the Voices with two several 
powers had entered in the Roman territories and 
with the deepest malice destroyed all that lay in 
their path. The tribunes would not believe this, 
and ordered that the slave should be whipped who 
uttered it; but presently a messenger arrived who 



CORIOLANUS. 157 

repeated the news, and added that Marclus was 
joined with Aufidius in the attack. Then, at last, 
came another messenger, bidding Sicinius and 
Brutus to the senate, for a fearful army, he re- 
ported, raged upon the Roman territories. 

The senators and patricians who had been 
friendly to Coriolanus now reproached and blamed 
the unhappy tribunes, who speedily became as 
hated as they had before been popular. The 
citizens one and all vowed that it was against their 
will that Coriolanus was banished, and blamed the 
danger which menaced Rome upon the two trib- 
unes. Brutus and Sicinius tried to avert their 
anger by denying the rumours and bidding the 
people go peacefully home and show no sign of 
fear; but for all that, they themselves trembled 
at the tidings, and Brutus said he would that half 
his wealth could buy the news for a lie. 

The Volcian forces, led by Coriolanus and Au- 
fidius, had come triumphantly onward through the 
Roman territories, and presently they encamped 
but a small distance from the gates of the city 
itself. This greatly alarmed the populace, and 
they clamoured for some one to go forth and plead 
with Coriolanus for their safety. The old pitiless 
cries which had banished their greatest soldier 
were now turned to prayers for his mercy, and 
Cominius, as his friend and fellow-soldier, was sent 
forth to beg terms of peace for his ungrateful city. 

But Coriolanus had been wounded in his pride 
and in his love of Rome too deeply to give over 

H 



158 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

his revenge upon such a request. He turned away 
from the arguments and prayers of Cominius, 
saying even of his dear friends, that he could not 
stay to pick them out in a pile of noisome chaff. 
The old consul thus came back to Rome crest- 
fallen and despairing, and the tribunes, who had 
by this time abandoned their defiant bearing 
towards the patricians and were ready to supplicate 
even Coriolanus, called upon Menenius to go out 
and make trial what his love could do for Rome. 

With much reluctance this old lord at last con- 
sented to go, yet he said that Coriolanus having 
bit his lip and hummed at good Cominius much 
disheartened him in the attempt; but in order to 
take the general in a favourable mood he meant to 
wait until he had dined before approaching him. 

But notwithstanding this, Cominius told the trib- 
unes after Menenius had departed, that Corio- 
lanus would never hear him, for the warrior was 
full of anger against Rome, and his injury was 
gaoler to his pity. The old consul added that he 
thought their only hope lay in inducing the noble 
mother and the wife of the exiled general to solicit 
him for mercy to his country. 

When Menenius reached the advanced post of 
the Volcian camp and asked an audience with 
Coriolanus he was told that he could not enter, 
and though he gave his name, which he thought 
the guard must know, and told of his friendship 
with Coriolanus, he was repeatedly denied an en- 
trance, and would have been turned away had 



CORIOLANUS. 159 

not Coriolanus and Aufidius happened at that time 
to be going their rounds and encountered him 
striving with the guard. "What's the matter?" 
asked Coriolanus. Menenius, with a look of tri- 
umph towards the guard, appealed to the great sol- 
dier in the name of their long-enduring friendship. 
'* I was hardly moved to come to thee," he said, 
' ' but being assured none but myself could move 
thee, I have been blown out of the gates with 
sighs, and conjure thee to pardon Rome. The 
good gods assuage thy wrath and turn the dregs 
of it upon this varlet here, who like a block hath 
denied my access to thee." 

Coriolanus looked sternly at his old friend 
through all his speech, and at its end said, harshly, 
' ' Away !' ' Menenius was astonished and wounded 
at such treatment, but the Volcian guard were 
gleeful to see it. Coriolanus gravely said that he 
knew not wife, mother, or child, and that though 
Menenius and he had once been familiar, yet in- 
grate forgetfulness had poisoned their friendship, 
and he bid the old lord be gone. His ears were 
closed against his suit, he said, more firmly than 
the Roman gates against the Volcian force. 

Thus treated and cast out, Menenius went back 
to Rome, where he found that, in the mean time, 
Virgilia and Volumnia with Marcius, the young son 
of Coriolanus, had gone on a mission like to his. 
But he foretold their ill-success to the tribunes, and 
was in all things certain that the throats of the 
citizens were doomed, for he said there was no 



l6o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

more mercy in Coriolanus than there is milk in a 
m.ale tiger, and this the poor city would speedily 
find, and he charged that the tribunes were alone 
to blame for it. 

But, in the Volcian camp, Coriolanus, beginning 
to fear that his firmness might give way to such 
moving petitions for forgiveness, hastened to make 
preparations for the attack, and he told Aufidius 
that on the morrow he would set down his host 
before the walls of Rome; bidding him, at the 
same time, report to the Volcian lords with what 
truth to them he had borne this business. ' ' Only 
their ends you have respected," said Aufidius, 
who, though he was growing secretly jealous of 
the sway of Coriolanus with the Volcian forces, 
yet acknowledged that the Roman warrior had 
stopped his ears against the general suit of Rome, 
and never admitted a private whisper even from 
such friends as thought themselves sure of him. 
''This last old man," said Coriolanus, ''whom, 
with a cracked heart, I have sent to Rome, loved 
me above the measure of a father. It was their 
last refuge to send him, but I will not lend ear 
hereafter to fresh embassies and suits either from 
the state or from private friends. ' ' 

Just as Coriolanus had uttered these words a 
shout arose in the camp, and, looking up, to see 
what occasioned it, he cried, ' ' Shall I be tempted 
to infringe my vow in the same time it is made ?' ' 
for there before him were his wife, his mother, and 
his son. ' ' Out, affection, all bond and privilege 



CORIOLANUS. l6l 

of nature break!" he exclaimed; but even these 
stout-hearted thoughts could not hold him to his 
stern purpose, for he felt himself melt, and knew 
he was not of stronger earth than others. ' ' My 
lord and husband!" said Virgilia, with a supplicat- 
ing voice; and he tried to reply harshly, but could 
only bring himself to say, * * These eyes are not the 
same I wore in Rome;" yet in an instant his heart 
overcame his colder mood, and he declared that, 
like a dull actor he had forgot his part and he was 
out, even to a full disgrace. ' ' Best of my flesh, 
forgive my tyranny!" he said to his wife; yet he 
bid her not therefore ask for forgiveness for the 
Romans, but tenderly embraced her and begged a 
kiss as long as his exile and sweet as his revenge. 

Then he turned aflectionately to Volumnia, and 
blamed himself for prating, while the most noble 
mother in the world stood by unsaluted; and he 
sank his knee to earth before Volumnia, showing 
more impression of deep duty, he said, than com- 
mon sons are wont to do. She bid him stand up 
blessed, and in her turn knelt before him; but this 
he forbid in some words of filial love, whereupon 
she pointed to his son, a poor epitome which 
might in turn come to show like himself Corio- 
lanus greeted young Marcius with tenderness, and 
called upon the god of soldiers to inform him with 
noble thoughts. The boy knelt to his brave father, 
and Volumnia, embracing this favourable moment, 
told Coriolanus that his son, his wife, and herself 
had come as suitors for mercy to Rome. She 
IV. — / 14* 



l62 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

said for herself, she purposed not to wait on for- 
tune till the wars were ended, for if he would not 
show a noble grace both to his family and to his 
country, he must march to the assault of Rome 
over his mother's body. To this his wife added 
her voice ; and Coriolanus was so moved by their 
pleading that he would have gone away from them ; 
but Volumnia detained him, saying that he need 
not destroy the Voices to save the Romans, for 
she desired them reconciled; and so passionately 
did she plead her cause and so steadfastly kneel 
with the others before him, that at last the filial 
cry broke from him, "O mother, mother!" and 
he took her by both hands, saying, * ' What have 
you done? You have won a happy victory to 
Rome; but for your son, believe it, most danger- 
ously you have prevailed with him, if not most 
fatally." And he turned to Aufidius, who still 
stood by, and asked, * ' Now, good Aufidius, were 
you in my stead, would you have heard a mother 
less, or granted less ?' ' The Volcian declared he 
was greatly moved; but he saw how mercy and 
honour were at difference in Coriolanus, and re- 
solved to make the Roman's error work to his 
own advantage. Coriolanus then led the ladies 
and his son to his tent, whence he said they should 
bear back to Rome a witness better than words; 
and, lastly, he vowed that they deserved to have 
a temple built to them, for all the swords in Italy 
could not have won this peace. 

During all this time, in Rome, the tribunes 



CORIOLANUS. 163 

were in great danger of their lives from the fickle 
mob, who now turned fiercely upon them for 
having exiled Coriolanus; but when a messenger 
came with tidings that the ladies had prevailed, 
that the Volcians were dislodged and Coriolanus 
gone, there was a sudden change from sorrow to 
rejoicing, and instantly the trumpets sounded, the 
hautboys were blown, drums were beaten, and 
happy shouts arose throughout the city. Sicinius 
first blessed the gods for their tidings and next 
gave the messenger his thanks, and so went off to 
greet the ladies as they returned from the Volcian 
camp. Senators, patricians, and throngs of citi- 
zens were abroad, and as the noble wife and mother 
of Coriolanus entered the gates of Rome they were 
saluted with grateful shouts of welcome, for they 
had indeed saved their country from destruction. 

In the mean time the Volcian forces had been led 
back to Antium by Aufidius and Coriolanus, and 
the former had secretly sent a paper to the lords 
of the city accusing Coriolanus of treachery towards 
the Voices because he had failed to overthrow 
Rome when it was in his power to do so. Au- 
fidius had attached to his cause many conspirators 
among the citizens of Antium, and these were 
sworn to slay Coriolanus, both because of his in- 
gratitude to his fellow-leader, who had befriended 
him at his need, and of his disloyalty to the Vol- 
cian states. 

When, therefore, Coriolanus entered the city, 
with drums beating and colours flying, and ad- 



164 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

dressed the lords, saying he was returned their sol- 
dier, no more infected with his own country's love 
than when he parted from them, but still subsisting 
under their great command; and when he told the 
lords that he had made peace, with no less honour 
to the Antiates than shame to Rome, then Au- 
fidius, stepping forth in his true guise, called upon 
the lords not to read the treaty, but to tell the 
traitor that he had abused their powers in the 
highest degree. 

"Traitor?" questioned Coriolanus, astonished 
at the charge from one whom he deemed his friend. 
*'Ay, traitor, Marcius!" cried Aufidius. "Mar- 
cius?" asked Coriolanus, surprised to be so ad- 
dressed. "Ay, Marcius, — Caius Marcius," said 
Aufidius. " Dost thou think I'll grace thee with 
that robbery, thy stolen name, Coriolanus?" 
Then he accused the great soldier, who was ever 
his vanquisher in arms, of perfidiously betraying 
the business of the lords of the Volcian state and 
giving up for a few tears their city — for so he 
called it — of Rome. 

Coriolanus looked from his noble height of man- 
hood with contempt upon this mean and jealous 
captain. He scornfully dismissed him with a few 
burning words. But Aufidius was in the midst 
of his countrymen, and Coriolanus, since he had 
come off so poorly in his contest for Rome, was 
scarce trusted by his old enemies. So that, when 
several turbulent spirits began to cry for his life, 
bidding the mob tear him to pieces, — this one 



CORIOLANUS. 165 

saying he had killed his son, and that his daugh- 
ter or his father, — there was an immediate out- 
burst of violence, and straightway the people one 
and all began to cry, ''Kill! kill!" and Aufidius 
and his fellow-conspirators drew their swords and 
slew Coriolanus without mercy. 

As the great soldier fell, Aufidius mounted upon 
his body, bidding the lords hear him speak. ' ' O 
Tullus, ' ' cried the lords, ' ' thou hast done a deed 
whereat valour will weep." But Aufidius defended 
his act, and said if they would call him to their 
senate he would deliver himself up to endure their 
severest censure. 

Then the great lords of the city, who valued 
Coriolanus truly for his exalted worth and unsul- 
lied honour, commanded that his body be borne 
from the place where it had fallen, so that he might 
be properly mourned: for, said they, it was the 
most noble corse that ever herald did follow to its 
urn. And Aufidius, stricken with sorrow for his 
impetuous deed, bid those of the chiefest soldiers 
take the warrior up, and with them, he bore Corio- 
lanus through the city, where, though he had 
widowed and unchilded many a one, yet Aufidius 
vowed he should ever have a noble memory. 




JULIUS C/ESAR. 



THE liberties of Rome, which had long been 
a republic, were in danger of being over- 
thrown by Julius Caesar, who had not only con- 
quered the enemies of his country abroad, but had 
overcome all opposition to his will at home, and as 
he was powerful both in the loyalty of his soldiers 
and in his popularity with the people, he was Hke 
to become king when he would. 

As he went, on the feast of the Lupercalia, to see 
the courses run by Mark Antony and other young 
patricians, there mingled with his train of followers 
a certain soothsayer, who in the midst of the shouts 
of merriment which attended the games warned 
Caesar, in a grave voice, to beware the Ides of 
March, a period of time which began with the next 
day. Upon calling the man forth and hearing his 
words again, Caesar said he was a dreamer, and 
bid his company pass on; but the warning sank 
into the dictator's heart, for he was, like all his 
countrymen, of a superstitious nature and paid 
careful heed to signs and omens. 

Of the company which followed Caesar were 
two Roman lords, who watched with sad hearts 

167 



1 68 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the encroachment of the dictator's power upon the 
liberties of Rome. These \yere Brutus, whose 
ancestor of the same name had driven the tyrant 
Tarquin, the last king of Rome, from his throne, 
and Cassius, a patriot of Brutus' s own rank, who 
had, like him, shared Caesar's fortunes in war, but 
who could not countenance his ambition to rule in 
his native city. 

As these two talked together apart, they both 
had in mind the danger which menaced Rome, but 
neither dared first mention it, so perilous was it to 
whisper aught against Caesar. But by indirect 
approaches they finally told each other their 
thoughts; and, finding that they were at one in a 
resolve against Caesar's assumption of kingship, 
they entered into an agreement to prevent it if 
they could. 

But as they spoke thus they were thrice inter- 
rupted by the shouts of the populace who thronged 
around Caesar in another street a short distance 
from where they stood; and when the games which 
he had come forth to view were ended, Brutus and 
Cassius called a friend, named Casca, from the 
dictator's train, and asked him to tell them what 
had chanced to cause the shouts of the people. 

This blunt gentleman said that a crown had been 
offered Caesar at three different times by Mark 
Antony, and that each time Caesar had put it 
away from him; but finally, when he had refused it 
the last time and the rabble hooted and clapped 
their hands and threw up their sweaty nightcaps, 



JULIUS C^SAR. l6t> 

Caesar was almost choked by having to give it 
over as his crafty policy dictated; and he fell into 
a swoon there in the market-place, and foamed at 
the mouth and was speechless. Casca further said 
that before Caesar fell down he had perceived the 
common herd was glad he refused the crown, and 
he opened his doublet and offered them his throat 
to cut, but at that moment he swooned; and when 
he came to, his first words were that if he had 
done anything amiss he desired their worships to 
think it was due to his infirmity. 

All this pretended submission of Caesar to the 
will of the mob increased the alarm of Brutus and 
Cassius not a little, and when they had parted from 
Casca, they agreed to meet the next day for another 
conference. 

On that same night there came a storm of thun- 
der and lightning to Rome so full of terrors that 
Casca, who met Cicero in the street, said to him 
that either there was a civil strife in heaven or else 
the world, too saucy with the gods, incensed them 
to send destruction; for he had seen the tempest 
dropping fire; and met a common slave holding 
up his left hand, which flamed and burned like 
twenty torches, yet his hand remained unscorched. 
Many other awful portents he had encountered; 
but Cicero wisely said that men may construe such 
things clean from their purpose; and he asked if 
Caesar went to the Capitol on the morrow ? Casca 
answered that he did; then they bid good-night 
and parted. 

H 15 



lyo TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

But as Casca turned towards his home Cassius 
came up with him, who, when Casca spoke of the 
awful night, made Hght of it, saying he had walked 
the streets baring his bosom to the thunder-stone, 
and presenting himself to the cross-blue lightning. 
Casca, who was much in fear of the angry elements, 
asked him why he thus tempted the heavens, for it 
was man's part to tremble in such times, and Cas- 
sius made answer that as a Roman he should show 
no fear, but if he would consider the true cause 
why all the dreadful omens were abroad, he would 
see that heaven had infused them with these spirits 
to make them instruments of warning against one 
man, no mightier than themselves in personal 
action, but grown prodigious and fearful, as these 
strange eruptions were. 

Casca asked if he meant Caesar; but Cassius was 
too wary to betray himself till he was sure of 
Casca' s good faith; and this latter now said that 
the senators intended to establish Caesar as king 
on the morrow, who should reign in every Roman 
dominion save Italy. ' ' I know where I will wear 
this dagger then," said Cassius, threatening thus 
to take his own life; and when Casca said that so 
every bondsman bears in his own hand the power 
to cancel his captivity, Cassius was moved to 
speak bolder words. "And why should Caesar be 
a tyrant ?' ' he asked. ' ' I know he would not be a 
wolf but that he sees the Romans are but sheep!" 
and he muttered how Rome was become trash, 
rubbish, and offal when it served for the base 



JULIUS C^SAR. 171 

matter to Illuminate so vile a thing as Caesar. 
Then remembering himself he said, '' But, O grief! 
where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this 
before a willing bondsman!" Casca was quick to 
say that he was no fleering tell-tale, but he gave 
Cassius his hand as a pledge of his sincerity, and 
said he would set his foot as far as went the farthest 
in any faction for the redress of all these griefs. 

Hereupon Cassius said it was a bargain made, 
and he revealed to Casca how he had already 
moved some of the noblest-minded Romans to 
undergo with him an enterprise of honourable- 
dangerous consequence. At that moment, he 
said, they stayed for him in Pompey's porch; and 
on such a fearful night there was no stir in the 
streets, and the complexion of the element was 
like in favor to the work in hand, most bloody, 
fiery, and terrible. Then, as they were about to 
part, Cinna, one of Cassius' s friends in the con- 
spiracy, came up in haste to find him; and when 
they had saluted, and Cassius had told him that 
Casca agreed to take part with them in their 
attempt, he* gave Cinna certain papers addressed 
to Brutus, one of which he was to lay in his chair, 
one to throw in at his window, and one to set up 
with wax upon the statue of old Brutus. All this 
done, he was to repair to Pompey's porch, and 
there join the rest of his fellow-patriots. 

But instead of parting from Casca, Cassius 
asked him, when Cinna was gone, to go with 
him to see Brutus at his house; for, he said, three 



172 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

parts of Brutus were already theirs, and the man 
entire must yield upon the next encounter. To 
this Casca gladly consented, and they hastened 
onward, for it was after midnight. 

Now, Brutus had also suffered through this tem- 
pestuous night with evil dreams and wakefulness, 
and towards morning he arose and went to his 
orchard, pondering without rest upon Caesar's 
menace to Rome, and how he should be turned 
from his ambitious courses. He had no personal 
cause to spurn at him, but for the general good 
he saw that the only remedy lay in Caesar's death. 
Should he be crowned, he feared majesty would 
change his nature, for it is the bright day that 
brings forth the adder, and the abuse of greatness 
is when it disjoins remorse from power. 

Brooding thus, he paced back and forth among 
his orchard trees, while Lucius, his page, went to 
light a taper in his study. When the boy came 
back he brought with him a paper which he had 
found in the window, and his master, taking this, 
dismissed him again to bed. It still lightened so 
vividly that Brutus could read the paper by the 
flashes, and in it he found these words: '* Brutus, 
thou sleepest; awake, and see thyself. Shall 

Rome ? Speak, strike, redress!" He had 

before received such missives, and he knew well 
that the blank meant: "Shall Rome stand under 
one man's awe?" and he thought within himself 
how his ancestors had driven the Tarquin from 
the streets of Rome when he was called a king, 



JULIUS CiESAR. , 173 

and now he resolved that if redress would follow 
he would do all that duty called on him to do. 

At this favourable moment a knock came upon 
the gate, and when it was opened Cassius entered, 
accompanied by all his fellow-conspirators with 
hats drawn down about their ears and their faces 
buried in their cloaks. 

" I think we are too bold upon your rest," said 
Cassius, in excuse for the early hour of the visit. 
But Brutus said he had been awake all night; 
then he turned towards the muffled group, and 
asked if he knew these men. ' ' Yes, every man 
of them," said Cassius; and he pointed out Tre- 
bonius, and Decius Brutus, and Casca, and Cinna, 
and Metellus Cimber, each of whom in turn Brutus 
welcomed. Then Cassius drew Brutus apart, 
while the rest whispered together, and presently 
they came back to the group, when Brutus took 
their hands all over again one by one, in sign that 
he had joined in their undertaking. Cassius pro- 
posed that they should now swear to their reso- 
lution, but Brutus was against an oath; for, he 
said, in so high an enterprise what other oath than 
honesty engaged to honesty was needed, — when 
every drop of blood that every Roman bore were 
guilty of a several bastardy if he broke the 
smallest particle of his promise ? 

Certain of the conspirators were anxious that 
Mark Antony and Caesar should fall together; but 
the wise and gentle Brutus said that their course 
would seem too bloody to cut the head off and 

15* 



174 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

then hack the hmbs, and he bid them be sacrificers 
but not butchers. "We'll stand up against the 
spirit of Caesar," he said; '* and in the spirit of 
men there is no blood. O that we could come by- 
Caesar's spirit and not dismember Caesar! But, 
alas, Caesar must bleed for it!" And he pleaded 
with his gentle friends to kill him boldly, but not 
wrathfully. 

As he spoke thus the clock struck three, and 
because the dawn approached it became time to 
part; but, before they left, Cassius said Caesar was 
grown superstitious of late, and it was doubtful if 
he would go forth that day, after the unaccustomed 
terrors of the night. Decius bid them never to fear 
that, for, even if Caesar were so resolved, he could 
o'erswayhim; and Cassius told all of those present 
to be at Caesar' s house at the eighth hour to fetch 
him to the Capitol. 

Then the group parted each his several way; 
and Brutus, coming back alone to the orchard, 
found his boy asleep. ' * Thou hast no figures nor 
no fantasies which busy care draws in the brains 
of men," he mused, looking tenderly upon the 
slumbering lad; but, hearing a step at his side, he 
turned, and was surprised to find Portia, his wife, 
come forth thus over-early from her bed. ' ' Por- 
tia," he chided, ''what mean you? Wherefore 
rise you now ? It is not for your health thus to 
commit your weak condition to the raw-cold 
morning." But the lady had noted her husband's 
troubled mind and restless actions, and she was 



JULIUS C^SAR. 175 

alarmed lest he should be ill or suffering, and she 
implored him to make her a confidante in his griefs. 
He said he was not well in health. But this would 
not satisfy Portia, for she asked why then he ex- 
posed himself to the humours of the dank morning; 
and again she urged him to tell her what was in his 
heart and what men had that night resorted to 
him, for she had seen, she said, some six or seven 
who hid their faces even from darkness. * ' I grant 
I am a woman," quoth she, *' but withal a woman 
that lord Brutus took to wife." And further to 
show her constancy, she said, she had given her- 
self a voluntary wound in her thigh. " O ye 
gods," murmured Brutus, '' render me worthy of 
this noble wife!" But just at this moment there 
came a knocking at the gate, and he bid her go in 
awhile, saying that by and by her bosom should 
partake the secrets of his heart. 

Ligarius now came in, who had been sent to 
Brutus by Metellus to be won over to their cause; 
and, as it approached the hour when the conspira- 
tors were to meet at Caesar' s palace, Brutus said he 
would unfold the plot to him as they went thither. 

Caesar had slept no better than his fellow- Ro- 
mans through that monstrous night. His wife, 
Calphurnia, cried out thrice in her slumber, ' ' Help, 
ho! They murder Caesar!" And so much was 
the dictator himself vexed with the strange portents 
which had appeared, that he sent a servant to the 
priests, bidding them do present sacrifice and give 
him their opinions of success. 



176 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

When Calphurnia arose, so affrighted was she 
by her dreams and by the storm, that she said 
Caesar should not stir forth of his house that day. 
* ' Caesar shall forth, ' ' said he. ' ' The things that 
threaten me look only on my back." But his 
wife had been told by a servant of the horrid sights 
seen by the watch: how a lioness had whelped in 
the streets, graves yawned, fiery warriors fought 
upon the clouds in ranks and squadrons that driz- 
zled blood upon the Capitol, horses neighed and 
dying men groaned, while ghosts shrieked about 
the streets. All this had so alarmed her that she 
pleaded with Caesar not to go forth. ' ' Cowards 
die many times before their deaths ; the valiant 
never taste of death but once," was the bold 
answer. But when the servant came back from 
the augurers and told Caesar that they would not 
have him stir forth that day, for upon plucking out 
the entrails of an offering, they could find no heart, 
he began himself to fear that the gods were against 
him and faltered in his determination. Seeing him 
thus irresolute, Calphurnia besought him anew 
to stay at home, suggesting that Mark Antony 
should be sent to the senate-house to say that 
Caesar was not well that day; and this appearing 
good, the dictator declared it should be so, and for 
his wife's humour he would stay at home. 

But, as if fate had ordered it so, at this moment 
Decius arrived at Caesar's house crying a good- 
morrow, and saying he had come to fetch him to 
the senate-house. Caesar said he had come in 



JULIUS C^SAR. 177 

very happy time to bear his greeting to the sena- 
tors and tell them he would not come that day. 
*' Say he is sick," said Calphurnia; but the mighty 
soldier would not have excuses made for him, and 
bid Decius go tell the gray-beards simply that he 
would not come. Decius asked for some cause, 
lest he should be laughed at when he told them 
so; but Csesar replied only, that the cause was in 
his will, and, briefly, he would not go. This, he 
said, was enough to satisfy the senate; but for 
Decius' s private satisfaction he told him the true 
cause, which was, among other omens, that Cal- 
phurnia had dreamed she saw her husband's statue 
run pure blood at a hundred spouts, to which 
many lusty Romans came smiling, and did bathe 
their hands in it. 

Decius craftily said that they had interpreted 
the dream amiss, for it was indeed a fair and fortu- 
nate vision. ' ' Your statue spouting blood in 
many pipes," quoth he, '* signifies that great 
Rome shall suck reviving blood from you, and 
that great men shall press for tinctures, stains, 
relics, and cognizance." Csesar thought this a 
just interpretation, and Decius followed up his 
advantage by telling him that the senate meant that 
day to give a crown to mighty Caesar; but he de- 
clared that if he sent them word Csesar would not 
come, they might change their minds. * * Besides, ' ' 
he continued, ' ' it were a mock apt to be rendered, 
for some one to say, ' Break up the senate till 
another time, when Caesar's wife shall meet with 

\M.—m 



178 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

better dreams.' " Then he asked pardon, for he 
said he spoke out of love for Caesar, who, seeing 
the humour of it, bid his wife mark how foolish 
her fears seemed now, and he vowed he was 
ashamed that he had yielded to them. ' ' Give 
me my robe, for I will go," he cried; and he was 
about to set out, when the rest of the conspirators, 
his friends, came up to his house, and presently 
Mark Antony as well, and all these Csesar invited 
within to taste some wine with him, saying that he 
would straightway go with them to the senate- 
house. 

As Csesar and his friends, with a host more, 
approached the Capitol, the same soothsayer who 
had before accosted him now crossed his path, 
and Csesar, in mockery of his warnings, said to 
him, *'The ides of March are come." ''Ay, 
Caesar," was the answer, "but not gone." 

The proud dictator took no further heed of the 
fellow, but straightway entered the Capitol, followed 
by his friends and attendants. All the senators 
arose to greet him as he came in, and there was 
much clamour of welcome; but in the midst of it 
Popilius, who was not in the plot against Caesar, 
whispered to Cassius, * ' I wish your enterprise to- 
day may thrive;" and when Popilius next went 
up and spoke with Csesar, the conspirators were 
much alarmed, for they thought some one had 
betrayed them. But the keener eyes of Brutus 
saw Popilius smile, and noted that Caesar did not 
change, and he counselled patience. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 179 

In the mean time Trebonius had drawn Mark 
Antony aside, as he had been directed to do, and 
presently Metellus Cimber went up to prefer his 
suit to Csesar. The rest pressed near to second 
him, and Cinna whispered Casca to remember 
that he was to be the first to rear his hand. 
' ' What is now amiss that Csesar and his senate 
must redress," asked the dictator? *' Most high, 
most mighty, and most puissant Csesar," prayed 
Metellus Cimber, ' ' I throw before thy seat an 
humble heart." Csesar resented such couchings 
and lowly courtesies in one of his own station, 
and he upbraided Metellus for this base spaniel- 
fawning; but he would not grant his" suit, for he 
said Metellus' s brother was banished by decree. 
Brutus professed to kiss Caesar's hand, but not in 
flattery, desiring that Publius Cimber might have 
an immediate freedom of repeal; and Cassius also 
pleaded for his enfranchisement. Csesar replied 
that he was constant as the northern star to his 
first purpose of banishment, whereupon Cinna 
cried out upon him, and Decius tried to make 
his protest heard above the din of voices. To 
these Csesar said, "Doth not Brutus bootless 
kneel?" and he would not budge from his firm 
resolve. Casca then seized quickly upon this 
refusal as an excuse for his attack, and crying, 
' ' Speak, hands, for me, ' ' he stabbed Csesar in 
the neck, who, catching at Casca' s arm, was 
stabbed by several other of the conspirators, and 
finally by Brutus. '' Et tu, Brute? Then fall, 



l8o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Caesar," said the great soldier, for he felt that if 
Brutus, whom he so much loved and respected, 
could desire his death, it was time for him to die. 

Then arose a great confusion in the senate-house. 
The senators retired in affright, not knowing what 
the conspirators intended to do, and Cinna led on 
his friends to cry, ' ' Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny 
is dead!" and they ran out shouting this about the 
streets. Brutus, with his wonted wisdom, coun- 
selled moderation, and bid the people and senators 
to be not afraid nor to fly, for ambition's debt was 
paid, and no harm was intended to any Roman 
else. 

Then came in the tribunes saying that Mark 
Antony had fled to his house amazed, and that 
men, wives, and children stared, cried out, and ran 
as if it were doomsday. This did not check the 
conspirators from going forth, and led by Brutus, 
they were about to start for the market-place, 
waving their red weapons over their heads and 
crying, "Peace, Freedom, and Liberty," when a 
messenger from Antony came in, who said his 
master bid him kneel to Brutus and say that, if he 
would vouchsafe that Antony might safely come 
to him and learn the cause of Caesar's death, he 
would not love Caesar dead so well as Brutus 
living, but would follow the fortunes of noble Bru- 
tus with all true faith. Brutus replied that if An- 
tony would come thither he should b satisfied, 
and, by his honour, depart untouched. 

Presently Mark Antony himself arrived, and was 



JULIUS C^SAR. l8l 

welcomed by Brutus; but on seeing the body of 
Caesar he could not refrain from some sad lamen- 
tations. * ' O mighty Caesar, ' ' he murmured, ' ' dost 
thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, 
triumphs, spoils, shrunk to this little measure?" 
Then he turned to the conspirators and said he 
knew not what they intended, or who else must be 
let blood, but if he himself, there was no hour so 
fit as Caesar's death-hour. Brutus told him with 
friendly pity to beg not his death from them, for 
though their hands seemed bloody and cruel yet 
their hearts were full of pity for the general wrong 
of Rome. Antony said he doubted not of their 
wisdom, and he took each man's bloody hand in 
sign of amity, but he felt that his credit stood on 
slippery ground, for they must think him either a 
coward or a flatterer. 

Again his love for Caesar overcame him, and 
he cried, *'That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis 
true; if then thy spirit look upon me now, shall 
it not grieve thee to see thy Antony making his 
peace, shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes ?' ' 
And in this strain he continued until the fiery 
Cassius warned him what he spoke, and Antony 
asked for pardon, for he said he took their hands 
meaning to be true to them, but was swayed from 
the point by looking down on Caesar. 

He asked then for reasons why Caesar was dan- 
gerous, and Brutus said that were Antony the son 
of Caesar himself he would be satisfied when he 
heard them. This, said Antony, was what he 

i6 



l82 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

sought; and he asked, moreover, that he might 
produce Caesar's body in the market-place and 
speak as his friend on the funeral. Brutus con- 
sented to this; but Cassius, more politic, thought 
it was unwise, for the people might be too much 
moved by what he would utter. 

Brutus therefore said he would go into the pul- 
pit first and show the reason for Caesar's death; but 
still Cassius Uked it not; so that Brutus laid certain 
conditions on Antony, as that he should not blame 
them, but only speak what good he could devise 
of Caesar, and say he did it by their permission; 
and upon Antony accepting these conditions, 
Caesar's body was left to him, and the conspirators 
passed out. 

When Brutus ascended the pulpit in the Forum, 
all Rome had thronged the streets to hear him 
speak. " The noble Brutus is ascended. Silence!" 
cried a host of voices; and presently he began, 
"Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for 
my cause, and be silent, that you may hear. If 
there be any dear friend of Caesar's in this assem- 
bly, to him I say that Brutus' s love to Caesar was 
no less than his. If then that friend demand why 
Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer, — 
not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome 
more." And in this solemn vein he proceeded; 
asking, at last, who among them was so base that 
would be a bondman. Thus he appealed alike to 
their pity and their patriotism, until the crowd was 
swayed by his burning words to cry out its ap- 



JULIUS C^SAR. 183 

proval, and every man of them would have re- 
mained steadfast on Brutus' s side; but at that same 
moment came up Mark Antony, with the body 
of Caesar ; and, after a few words more, Brutus 
gave place to Antony, saying he would depart; 
but he asked the citizens, for his sake, to stay there 
and do grace to Caesar's corpse. "For Brutus' s 
sake, ' ' began Antony, ' ' I am beholden to you, ' ' 
Then one citizen asked another what he said of 
Brutus, for it were best he spoke no harm of him ; 
and they vowed among themselves that this Caesar 
was a tyrant and Rome was blessed in being rid 
of him. 

But being of an inconstant mood, as a mob ever 
is, the citizens were aroused by Antony's eloquence 
and innuendoes against the murderers to denounce 
them as hotly as before they had been in their 
favour. ' ' I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him, ' ' 
began Antony. ' ' The evil that men do lives after 
them; the good is often interred with their bones; 
so let it be with Caesar. ' ' And he said the noble 
Brutus had told them Caesar was ambitious; and, 
if it were so, it was a grievous fault; and grievously 
had Caesar answered it. Yet there, under permis- 
sion of Brutus and the rest, he had come to speak 
in Caesar's funeral, — for Brutus, he said, was an 
honourable man, and so were they all honourable 
men. 

Thus, placing an equivocal emphasis on these 
words of respect for Brutus and his friends, and 
doing so again and again, Antony implied the 



184 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

reverse of what he said; and so by degrees he 
brought the crowd, rather through praise than 
blame, to grow suspicious of Brutus and his fellow- 
conspirators and to go back to their old loyalty to 
Caesar, whom, they began to murmur, had great 
wrong done him, and they vowed also that there 
was not a nobler man in Rome than Antony. 

Hence, when Antony began again, telling them 
that but yesterday the word of Caesar might have 
stood against the world, but now he lay there with 
none so poor to do him reverence, and in all things 
slyly stirring up among them a hatred of Caesar's 
foes, they cried aloud against Brutus, and de- 
manded that Antony should read Caesar's will, 
though, the more to arouse them, he had said he 
must not read it. " It is not meet you knew how 
Caesar loved you," he said. "You are not wood, 
nor stones, but men; and, being men, hearing the 
will of Caesar will inflame you and make you mad. 
It is good you know not that you are his heirs, for 
if you should, O what would come of it!" 

This so excited the mob that when Antony bid 
them make a ring about Caesar's corpse they did 
so instantly, and he came down from the pulpit 
amid the struggling throng, and so maddened 
them with the tale of Caesar's murder that they 
began to call Brutus and his fellows traitors and 
villains and to run through the streets, crying, 
" Burn, fire, kill, slay; let not a traitor live!" 

Antony feigned to entreat them against mutiny; 
for, he said, they who had done the deed were 



JULIUS C^SAR. 185 

honourable men, and would, no doubt, answer the 
citizens with good reasons. * ' I am no orator as 
Brutus is," he said, with assumed modesty; " but 
as you know me all, a plain, blunt man that love 
my friend." But every word he spoke only 
aroused his hearers the more; and although, till 
the last, Antony counselled them against violence, 
they were eager to fly to Brutus' s house and burn 
it and to destroy the conspirators. 

At last, Antony read them Caesar's will, which 
gave to every Roman citizen seventy-five drachmas, 
and to the city, for the common pleasure of all, his 
private arbours and new-planted orchards by the 
Tiber-side. Hearing this, the crowd burst forth 
into a shout of rejoicing, and broke away on the 
instant to revenge Caesar's death. 

Antony, learning from a servant that Octavius 
Caesar, a kinsman of the dead dictator, was come 
post-haste to Rome and was with Lepidus, at 
Julius Caesar's house, went thither, well satisfied 
with the eflect his speech had had upon the peo- 
ple. He found Octavius and Lepidus, and with 
them presently went to his own house, where 
they set about making a list of those who should 
die for Caesar's death, — for, Brutus and his con- 
federates having fled, these three now became 
triumvirs of Rome and divided the empire between 
them. 

They were informed that Brutus and Cassius 
were levying forces to do battle against them, and 
they took measures straightway to raise a power 

16* 



l86 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

of their own; for they well knew that being in pos- 
session of the government they had the advantage 
and meant in all things to maintain it. 

The army which Brutus and Cassius had drawn 
to their standards was divided in two, the one part 
of it being near Sardis, under Brutus, and the other 
with Cassius at some distance away. Brutus had 
discovered that one Lucius Pella received bribes 
from the Sardians, and had condemned him, not- 
withstanding the interest of Cassius in his behalf. 
This much incensed Cassius; and when presently 
the forces joined and he came to Brutus' s camp, he 
boldly charged his fellow-general with doing him 
wrong. This, Brutus resented, saying he wronged 
only his enemies ; but he told Cassius that he 
wronged himself to write in such a case. This led 
to hot words between them, and Brutus accused 
Cassius of having an itching palm to sell his offices 
to undeservers. Cassius was now enraged, and 
he bid Brutus bait him not, for he was a soldier 
older in practice and abler than he, and he would 
not brook insult, even from Brutus. ' ' Urge me 
no more," he said; "have mind upon yourself; 
tempt me no further. ' ' And to this Brutus replied, 
contemptuously, "Away, slight man!" " O ye 
gods! ye gods! must I endure all this?" hissed 
Cassius. But Brutus, too, was far gone in anger, 
and he would not cease until he had uttered what 
was in his heart. He had, he said, sent to Cassius 
for certain sums of gold to pay his legions, which 
were denied him. ' ' I denied you not, ' ' said Cas- 



JULIUS C^SAR. 187 

sius. ' ' You did, ' ' returned Brutus. Whereupon 
Casslus told him that the messenger was but a fool 
who brought back his answer. This was a token 
of softening on the part of Cassius. But Brutus 
was much offended, and would not yet make peace. 
At last, however, Cassius, desiring no permanent 
rupture with his noble friend, bewailed his misfor- 
tune, and tried by pity to do what by threats he 
could not. Brutus loved Cassius at heart, and 
they were joined together by the bond of Caesar's 
murder, so that little by little he grew mollified, 
and at last, when Cassius asked it, he gave him his 
hand, saying, "And my heart too." And upon 
this the sore was healed between them and they 
were once more friends. ^ 

Then, for the first time, Brutus told Cassius that 
he was sick with many griefs, for Portia, his wife, 
was dead. Cassius was sorely moved by this news, 
and he thought at once of Brutus' s forbearance in 
their quarrel, saying, *' How did I escape killing 
when I crossed you so ?' ' 

Portia had died of impatience at her husband's 
absence and of grief that young Octavius and Mark 
Antony had made themselves so strong. She had 
grown distracted with brooding upon these things, 
and had swallowed fire in the absence of her 
attendants. 

As the two leaders talked together of these 
things, Titinius and Messala, their fellow-soldiers, 
came into the tent where they sat, and Brutus told 
Cassius and them he had received letters that Oc- 



l88 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

tavius and Mark Antony were coming down upon 
them with a mighty power and were bending their 
expedition towards Philippi. Upon this they fell to 
laying plans for opposing the triumvirs, and Brutus 
suggested a march to Philippi to meet them. He 
supported his views with many wise reasons, say- 
ing that there is a tide in the affairs of men which, 
taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; but omitted, 
all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and 
in miseries; and that on such a full sea were they 
now afloat, so that they must take the current 
when it served or lose their ventures. 

Cassius, however, was in favour of remaining 
where they were, well intrenched amid the hills, 
rather than venturing to give battle upon the 
plains; but he gave up to the reasoning of Brutus, 
and the march was finally ordered. 

This done the leaders retired to take a little 
rest, for the hour was late and they were weary. 

When his friends were gone Brutus, also, would 
have slept, but his cares weighed too heavily upon 
him for rest, and he called his boy Lucius, who 
was already slumbering, to summon Varro and 
Claudius to lie on cushions in his tent, for he 
7 was disquieted and needed company. By every 
means he sought to win sleep, and at last ques- 
tioned Lucius if he could hold up his heavy lids 
awhile and touch his instrument a strain or two ? 
This, Lucius willingly did; but presently, in the 
midst of the air, he fell asleep against his instru- 
ment. Brutus tenderly took it from him lest he 



JULIUS CiESAR. 189 

should break It, and himself sat down to read be- 
side his dim taper. 

He thought how ill the taper burned, and turned 
to fix it, when his eyes beheld a sight which chilled 
him to the bone. It was the ghost of Caesar which 
came down upon him. * ' Art thou anything ? 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
that makest my blood cold and my hair to stare ?" 
he cried, and the ghost said, solemnly, * ' I am thy 
evil spirit, Brutus." He asked why it had come, 
and it replied : * ' To tell thee thou shalt see me 
at Philippi. ' ' Brutus now regained his composure 
and took heart to mock at the spirit, for he was 
not certain but that it was a mere figment of his 
overwrought brain, and as if to prove this, his 
fear passing away, the ghost vanished. Then he 
called his attendants to test, by them, if it had 
been his own fancy or an apparition. They had 
seen nothing, and he was for the time satisfied. 

Octavius and Antony were secretly rejoiced that 
the others had decided to meet them on the plains 
of Philippi, for there they would have a much bet- 
ter chance of victory than among the hills of Sar- 
dis. When, therefore, the battle began, though it 
was fought valiantly on either side, the triumvirs 
from the first were confident, while Brutus and his 
friends felt omens of ill-succes. 

It fell out, however, that the legions which 
Brutus led overcame those of Octavius, to which 
they were opposed, while Cassius's command was 
driven back by Antony and his forces. This led 



190 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

to a great confusion in the ranks of both armies, 
so that the men and leaders could scarce tell friend 
from foe. Cassius sent his friend Titinius to learn 
whether certain troops were of his faction or the 
other, but as Titinius was long away and Pindarus 
reported from the hill above that he saw him 
enclosed round about with horsemen and taken, 
Cassius, ever of a hopeless temper, declared that 
he was a coward to live so long to see his best 
friend taken before his face. He therefore bid 
Pindarus fulfil his oath, that, whenever his master 
should command it, he should take his life. Pin- 
darus poised the sword that had run Ccbsar through, 
and with it slew Cassius, who died thus inconti- 
nently on the eve of what might else have proved 
victory. For Titinius had not been taken by the 
enemy, but had found friends, and presently he 
came back full of hope; but seeing Cassius dead, 
he, also, began to despair ; and he took up his 
friend' s sword and killed himself for grief 

When Brutus and his lieutenants found these 
slain upon the field, they were heart-broken. 
' ' Friends, ' ' cried Brutus, * ' I owe more tears to 
this dead man than you shall see me pay," but he 
murmured, ' ' I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find 
time, ' ' and, with the rest, he hurried away to the 
field to try his fortunes in a second fight. 

But overwearied as he was, and full of great 
griefs, Brutus finally retreated before the foe, and 
at last he and his leaders were driven to a final 
stronghold, where they sat together upon a rock 



JULIUS C^SAR. 191 

steadfast and unvanquished but quieted with 
thoughts of approaching death. Here Brutus was 
so oppressed with encompassing evils that he 
whispered one after another of his friends for the 
relief which could come only from their swords. 
Each in turn was distressed by his proposal, for 
all loved him; but when the cries of alarm gathered 
and drew near and the end was not far off, this 
noble Roman, who had vowed never to be taken 
alive, besought his servant Strato to hold his sword 
while he ran upon it. 

And thus died Brutus, who, said Mark Antony, 
was the noblest Roman of them all, for all the 
conspirators, save him only, did what they did in 
envy of great Caesar; but he alone, in a general 
honest thought and common good to all, made 
one of them. His life was gentle, and the elements 
so mixed in him that Nature might stand up and 
say to all the world, ' * This was a man !' ' and 
Octavius declared that, according to his virtue, he 
should be used with all respect and rites of burial; 
and directed that during that night his bones should 
lie in his tent, most like a soldier, ordered honour- 
ably. 




ANTONY AND CLEOPATKA. 



.K'AVK«^OA\::) CY^k H'/VO'^V^K 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



MARK ANTONY, one of the triumvirs of 
Rome, the triple pillars of the ancient 
world, had extended his conquests into the East, 
and brought Egypt under the Roman rule, so 
that its queen, Cleopatra, became his vassal; but 
when, with many precious gifts and costly trap- 
pings and in all her radiant beauty, she went by sea 
to Tarsus to do homage to the great general, he 
straightway fell in love with this voluptuous queen, 
and became, in fact, her subject rather than her 
ruler. 

So infatuated was he, indeed, that his officers 
called his passion a dotage, for, said they, his 
goodly eyes that once glowed like plated Mars 
over the files and musters of the war, now bent 
and turned their devotion upon this tawny face, 
and his captain's heart, which in the scuffles of 
great fights had burst the buckles on his breast, 
had become the bellows to cool a gypsy's lust. 
Day long he was with her, and her clinging caresses 
and insidious wiles so took up his thoughts that 
he would hear no news from Rome, but dismissed 
IV. — I n 17 193 



194 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

the messengers sent by Caesar and Lepidus, his 
fellow-triumvirs, bidding Rome melt into the Tiber 
and the wide arch of the empire to fall, for here, 
he said, was his space, and that the nobleness of 
life was to do as he then did; and, when such a 
pair as he and Cleopatra were together, they stood 
up peerless. 

So it fared for a little time, but the world is not 
so wide but that a man's sin may sooner or later 
find him out, and at last Antony awoke to the 
gravity of his affairs in Rome. A messenger had 
come bringing news of wars in Italy, and of the 
conquests in Asia of Antony's fellow-general, La- 
bienus, who had, with his Parthian force, extended 
the Roman dominions to the Euphrates, and, the 
messenger said, his conquering banner shook from 
Syria to Lydia and to Ionia, lands of the far East. 

This pricked Antony's martial pride and touched 
him with shame at his idle course; but he dis- 
missed the messenger presently and called another, 
a man from Sicyon, who told him bluntly that 
Fulvia, his wife, was dead in Sicyon, and handed 
him a letter bearing further advices. 

Upon this Antony sent him away and fell to 
pondering on these latest tidings. "There's a 
great spirit gone," he murmured, and thought 
how he had desired it thus, but that what our con- 
tempts hurl from us we often wish to be ours again. 
She was good, and she was gone; but the hand 
that shoved her on could now willingly pluck her 
back; and he resolved that he would break off 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. I95 

from this enchanting queen who had him in her 
toils, for his idleness did hatch ten thousand harms. 

Then he called his officer Enobarbus, and deliv- 
ered him the contents of his letters, bidding him 
let the army have notice that he purposed going 
from thence. Not alone did the death of Fulvia 
strongly speak to him, but the letters of many 
friends in Rome petitioned him to set out for home, 
for Sextus Pompeius had given the dare to Caesar, 
and now commanded the empire of the sea, and 
the slippery people began to throw the dignities of 
Pompey the great upon his son. 

When Antony broached his purpose to Cleopatra 
she scorned him for his little love, who could thus 
leave her to go to the married woman, as she 
slightingly called his wife; he pleaded that the 
strong necessity of time commanded his services 
awhile, but that his full heart remained with her. 
He told her, too, how Rome was menaced without 
and within, how Pompey made his approaches, 
and lastly he said that that which most should 
reconcile her to his going was the death of Fulvia. 

The captious queen upon this found a new cause 
for upbraiding Antony. She asked where were 
the sacred vials he should fill with water, arguing 
that if he stood thus untearful at news of his wife's 
death, he would equally disregard absence from 
her. * ' By the fire that quickens Nilus' slime, ' ' 
he swore, * ' I go from hence thy soldier and ser- 
vant, making peace or war as thou affectest. ' ' 

Still she reproached him, striving thus by oppo- 



196 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

sition to win him the closer to her, for she had told 
her attendant, Charmian, that the way to lose him 
was to indulge him. But Antony's purpose was 
fixed, and telling her again that, even residing 
there, she still went with him, he called his men 
together and tore himself from her embraces. 

When Antony arrived in Rome he found Caesar 
much angered with him, both because of his re- 
ported excesses in Egypt, and because of the wars 
which Antony's wife and brother had made against 
Rome while he was absent. With secretly aiding in 
these he boldly charged Antony. But from this 
blame Antony freed himself, declaring his brother 
never did urge him in his act, and for his wife, he 
granted that she did too much disquiet Caesar, but 
he said he could not help it, so much incurable 
were the troubles she stirred up. 

Then Caesar accused him, when rioting in Alex- 
andria, of pocketing his letters and taunting and 
gibing his messenger out of audience. This also 
Antony, with manful apologies, explained. He 
had, he said, newly feasted three kings, and the 
messenger fell upon him ere he was admitted, but 
next day he told him the cause of his dismissal, 
which was as much as to have asked his pardon. 
But Caesar persisted, saying Antony had broken 
the article of his oath: to lend him arms and aid 
when he required them, for both he had denied. 
* * Neglected, rather, ' ' said the patient warrior, 
' * for the summons came when poisoned hours had 
bound me up from mine own knowledge," and he 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. I97 

said that as nearly as he might he would play the 
penitent to Caesar, but his honesty should not 
make poor his greatness, but the truth was that 
Fulvia, to have him out of Egypt, made wars in 
Rome, for which he, the ignorant motive, now 
asked pardon so far as it befitted his honour to 
stoop in such a case. 

At this all the generals and nobles who heard 
it murmured their approval, and they presently 
brought about a reconciliation between the con- 
tending triumvirs; yet Caesar said that it could 
not be that they should remain in friendship, their 
conditions so differing in their acts; yet if he knew 
what hoop would hold them stanch, he would pur- 
sue it from edge to edge of the world. 

Hereupon Agrippa, a friend of Caesar, proposed 
that as Caesar had a sister by the mother's side, 
the admired Octavia, and as Mark Antony was 
now a widower, these two should wed, and so unite 
the interests of the two great leaders and hold 
them in perpetual amity. Antony seemed not 
averse to this, and called on Octavius to speak, who 
said he would do so when he heard how Antony 
was touched by it. Antony asked what power was 
in Agrippa to make it good should he say : Be it 
so. ' ' The power of Caesar, and his power with 
Octavia," replied Octavius; and upon this Antony 
declared that he would never dream of impediment 
to this good purpose, and he gave Caesar his hand, 
saying that from that hour the heart of brothers 
should govern in their loves and sway their great 

17* 



198 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

designs. Octavius, in turn, gave Antony his hand, 
bequeathing him a sister whom no brother did 
ever love so dearly. " Let her live," he said, "to 
join our kingdoms and our hearts, and never fly 
off our loves again. ' ' 

Thus these two powerful rivals became allies 
once more, and all their fellow-generals and their 
friends rejoiced that the breach was closed in am- 
ity, for strife between them promised success to 
Pompey, who now threatened by land and sea; but 
united he could in no wise hope to match them. 

Lepidus, their fellow-triumvir, who had been 
much concerned to bring them into harmony, now 
urged them to seek out Pompey; for if they did 
not do so, he said, this warrior would seek out 
them at Rome. "Where lies he?" asked An- 
tony. And Csesar told him at Mount Misenum, 
and that his strength by land was great and in- 
creasing, but by sea he was absolute master. They 
then resolved that as soon as the nuptials of An- 
tony and Octavia were celebrated they would 
march with all their force to give Pompey battle. 
Octavius then invited Antony to go to visit his 
sister, and they started thither without delay. 

In a brief space Antony and Octavia were 
wedded with all solemnity; and, as was planned, 
the triumvirs immediately departed for Misenum, 
where presently they encountered Pompey and 
his forces. 

A parley was held by the contending generals, 
and, though Pompey had rigged out his navy to 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. I99 

scourge the ingratitude which Rome cast on his 
noble father, he was now wilHng to accept certain 
conditions made him, so that peace might prevail 
in the Roman domain. These conditions were 
that he should have the government of Sicily and 
Sardinia, provided he should rid the sea of the 
pirates who then infested it, and send certain meas- 
ures of wheat to Rome. 

But Pompey was not a little angered against 
Mark Antony because he had failed to acknowl- 
edge Pompey' s services to Fulvia and his brother 
in their war against Caesar. Antony had not for- 
gotten this kindness to his house, yet he was loath 
to wound Caesar by recalling it; but now he showed 
himself most grateful, and rendered Pompey liberal 
thanks, in return for which his late foe gave him 
his hand in sign of amity. 

Thus were all wounds healed between the op- 
posing factions; and the agreement which ended 
their strife being punctually written and signed, 
Pompey invited all to go aboard his galley to feast 
the night out. 

With lusty cheer they drank of the wines and 
ate the feast, until Lepidus grew mellow and served 
as a butt for Antony's wit; and upon the entrance 
of music, Enobarbus, linking the hands of all the 
great generals together, led them in a dance about 
the table. But while they caroused, Menas, an 
officer of Pompey' s force, drew him aside and 
asked him if he would be lord of all the world ; for 
he had but to entertain the wish and, though 



200 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Menas was accounted poor, he would give him it. 
Pompey thought he was over-deep in his cups; 
but Menas declared he had drunk but little. Then 
Pompey asked him how he would do this, and 
Menas said, ''These three world-sharers, these 
competitors are in thy vessel. Let me cut the 
cables, and when we are put off, fall to their 
throats. All then is thine." So base a design 
had never entered Pompey' s mind; but now that 
he heard it spoken, he told Menas that hearing it 
he could not entertain it; but being unknown, he 
would have found it afterwards well done. He 
therefore bid his officer desist and drink, and re- 
sumed his place at the table among the merry 
companions of the feast. 

But presently Caesar arose from the table and 
said he had rather fast four days than drink so 
much in one; and as their graver business frowned 
at such levity, he bid good-night to Pompey, then 
took Antony by the hand and descended to the 
shore. 

This business being well despatched, the trium- 
virs returned to Rome; and presently Antony and 
his wife Octavia parted from their friends and went 
to Athens, whither Antony was called by stress of 
his conquests under the general Ventidius in the 
East. 

It came about in the course of time that Cleo- 
patra heard of Antony's wedding with Octavia, 
and she was exceedingly jealous of the young 
Caesar's sister, asking every messenger from Rome 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 20I 

for news of her looks, age, and accomplishments. 
It was most dangerous, as her servants well knew, 
to thwart this impetuous queen, and those who 
brought her tidings often suffered severely if these 
were not to her liking. The messenger who first 
told her of Antony's marriage so angered her that 
she beat him roundly up and down her chamber 
for his pains; and hence when next he brought her 
news from Rome he answered her questions about 
Octavia as he knew she would be pleased to have 
them answered, rather than according to truth. 
She, in turn, perverted the answers to even worse 
effects than he intended; so that between them 
they made Octavia out to be dwarfish and dull of 
tongue, creeping and without majesty in her gait, 
thirty in years, round to faultiness in face, and her 
hair to be red and her forehead over-low. 

When she had learned all this, Cleopatra was 
well satisfied, saying the messenger had seen maj- 
esty and should know what he spoke of ; and she 
gave him her purse and graciously dismissed him. 

But it was not very long before Antony himself 
again went to Alexandria, escaping from his wife 
on some pretext of war, and Cleopatra triumphed 
mightily in her power over Octavia' s husband. 
She set up a throne of silver with golden chairs in 
the market-place, and here, she and Antony being 
publicly enthroned, they placed at their feet Caesa- 
rion, who was said to be Julius Caesar's son, and 
Antony and Cleopatra's children, Alexander and 
Ptolemy. To Cleopatra, thus regally seated, 



202 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Antony gave the absolute queenship of Egypt; and 
he proclaimed her sons the kings of kings, giving 
them rich Eastern kingdoms for their portions. 

Antony took care that this should not come to 
Octavia's ears, but it was soon broached to Caesar 
himself, for he had eyes upon him, and his affairs 
came to him on the wind. It therefore happened 
that Caesar took some bold steps for satisfaction 
of his personal ambition; for he broke with Pom- 
pey and destroyed him, and he put Lepidus in 
prison for fancied wrongs, thus freeing himself 
from two heavy clogs to his imperial progress. 
He was well aware that such acts would arouse 
Antony, and this was, indeed, partly what he de- 
sired, for he wanted to be single in Rome, and 
he felt that upon Antony's excesses in Egypt he 
could well found charges which would justify him 
with the Romans in bringing his fellow-triumvir 
to account. 

When Antony heard what had happened he 
was incensed against Caesar, who, he told Octavia, 
had made his will and read it publicly to gain 
credit with the people; and had spoken scantily 
of him, and when he could not avoid paying him 
terms of honour, he had done it but coldly and 
sickly. Octavia was most unhappy at this turn of 
affairs, for she said if she prayed for blessings on 
her husband she was but calling down harm upon 
her brother. Antony told her that if he lost his 
honour he lost himself, and better he were not hers 
at all than hers and branchless. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 203 

But, as she requested it, he consented that she 
should be go-between, while in the mean time he 
would raise the preparation of a war. He bid her 
make haste, provide her going, choose her own 
company, and command what cost her heart had 
mind to. 

She set out at once, but with a meagre attend- 
ance, and in a brief time arrived in Rome, where 
Caesar and his friends were seated in council 
upon Antony's unlawful courses. '' Hail, Caesar! 
Hail, most dear Caesar!" she cried, as she entered; 
and Caesar, astonished to see her there, said 
lovingly, ' * That ever I should call thee cast- 
away!" She replied that there was no cause to 
do so; but he questioned why she had stolen upon 
him thus, who should have an army for an usher 
and the neighs of horse to tell of her approach 
long ere she appeared. The trees by the wayside, 
he said, should have borne men, and expectation 
fainted longing for what it had not. * ' But, ' ' he 
continued, the more to mark Antony's fault, 
* ' you are come a market-maid to Rome, and 
have prevented the ostentation of our love, which 
left unshown is often left unloved." She truth- 
fully said that she was not constrained to come 
thus, but did it of her own free will, having 
prayed her lord, Mark Antony, because of the in- 
tended war, that she might return to Rome. Caesar 
said that Antony was glad of her coming, because 
her absence removed a check upon his lust. This 
Octavia was quick to deny, whereupon Caesar 



204 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

told her of Antony's doings in Egypt, and how, 
by that very time, Cleopatra having nodded him 
to her, he had travelled thither again, and that 
he and she were then levying the kings of all the 
East for the coming war. ' * Ah me, most wretched, 
that have my heart parted betwixt two friends that 
do afflict each other!" she moaned; but Caesar 
gave her a brotherly welcome to Rome, bidding 
her cheer her heart and let determined things to 
destiny hold, unbewailed, their way. 

Caesar was quick with his warlike preparations, 
and even before Antony knew that he had set sail 
from Italy his navy had penetrated far into the 
Mediterranean and taken the city of Toryne. 
Antony was touched to envy by this surprising 
achievement, and to show his own prowess and 
equipment in ships he vowed he would fight with 
Caesar by sea instead of land, as had been deter- 
mined. This, Canidius, a prudent leader, much 
opposed; but Antony gave him little heed, having 
fixed his mind upon a show of his strength by sea 
so that Caesar might know him to be his equal in 
martial manoeuvres. Enobarbus also tried to dis- 
suade his master, saying that their ships were not 
well manned, their mariners muleteers, reapers, 
and people suddenly pressed into the service, 
while Caesar's fleet was manned by those that 
often had fought against Pompey. But Antony 
cried only, "By sea, by sea!" and would listen 
to no argument. Cleopatra, ever his bad angel, 
encouraged him in his imprudent course by offer- 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 205 

ing her sixty sails; and this confirmed the head- 
strong soldier. He started for his ships, bidding 
Canidius, at the same time, to hold his nineteen 
legions and twelve thousand horse by land. 

Caesar, on his part, was wise enough to keep to 
his ships, where he knew his greatest strength 
lay; and he commanded his leaders not to strike 
by land, but to remain whole till they had done 
their utmost by sea. 

When, therefore, these two forces met in the 
Mediterranean, it was not long before the superi- 
ority of Caesar's navy was evident. But even had 
this not been the case, Antony was doomed to 
defeat, for in the midst of the fight, when the ad- 
vantage seemed about equal, Cleopatra, with her 
sixty ships, hoisted sails and fled; and, she once 
being in flight, Antony, the noble ruin of her 
magic, clapped on his sea-wing and shamefully 
followed her. Experience, manhood, and honour, 
all were violated, and the hero of Philippi yielded 
up his last hope of conquest; for, seeing his flight, 
Canidius began to fail in his allegiance and darkly 
plotted to carry his legions over to Caesar. 

When Antony came ashore he stormed against 
his own cowardice, saying the land bid him tread 
no more on it, for it was ashamed to bear him; 
and in his self-reproach he begged his friends to 
take his ship laden with gold and divide it among 
them and make their peace with Caesar. This the 
loyal band refused to do; but as he was pleading 
with them to leave him, Cleopatra, with her women, 

18 



2o6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

Charmlan and Iras, came in, and Eros, a soldier, 
said, * ' Most noble sir, arise ; the queen ap- 
proaches." Antony was deep in thought upon 
his most unnoble swerving, and he did not heed 
the words. Again Eros spoke. Then Antony- 
looked upon Cleopatra with deep reproach. ' ' O 
whither hast thou led me, Egypt ?' ' he said. ' * See 
how I convey my shame out of thine eyes by look- 
ing back on what I have left behind, destroyed in 
dishonour." She asked forgiveness, and said she 
little thought he would have followed when her 
ships fled. But he told her she knew too well that 
his heart was tied to her rudder by the strings. 
**0, my pardon," she humbly said. And, the 
more to pain her, he told how he must send hum- 
ble treaties to young Caesar and dodge and palter 
to him in the shifts of lowness. 

Cleopatra began to weep at his remorse, and this 
turned the current of his thoughts away -from grief. 
■'Fall not a tear," he cried, with his old ardour; 
' ' one of them rates all that is won and lost. ' ' 
Then, with an impetuous caress, he bid her give 
him a kiss, for even that repaid him. 

Antony had sent his schoolmaster, Euphronius, 
to treat with Csesar; and this envoy now came 
back, saying the young general had declared that 
Cleopatra should have courtesy if she would yield 
up Mark Antony. 

Turning to the queen, Antony said, "Send this 
grizzled head to the boy Csesar and he will fill 
thy wishes to the brim with principalities. ' ' Cleo- 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 207 

patra asked, ''That head, my lord?" And An- 
tony, seeing her fondness, bid the messenger go 
back to Caesar again. ' ' Tell him he wears the 
rose of youth upon him. I dare him to lay his gay 
caparisons apart and answer me sword against 
sword, ourselves alone." And he led the school- 
master apart that he might write the challenge out 
ere he sent it. 

In the mean time a messenger from Caesar, 
named Thyreus, whom that general had ordered 
to go to Cleopatra and win her from Antony 
with soft words and rich promises, came into the 
queen's presence, and made his suit in Caesar's 
name, saying the conqueror knew that she em- 
braced Antony not as she did love him, but as she 
feared him; and the scars upon her honour he 
therefore pitied as constrained blemishes, not as 
deserved ones. Cleopatra listened with willing 
ears and uttered encouraging exclamations as the 
messenger proceeded, and, upon this last speech, 
she said, ' ' Caesar is a god and knows what is 
most right. Mine honour was not yielded, but 
conquered merely." Then this wily pleader for 
his master asked if he should say to Caesar what 
the queen desired of him, for the conqueror partly 
begged to be desired to give, and he told her that 
it would warm Caesar's spirits to hear that she had 
left Antony and put herself under his protection. 
Cleopatra was charmed with his addresses, and 
asked his name, which he modestly gave; then she 
sent a message of humble allegiance to great Caesar, 



208 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

and Thyreus begged grace to lay his duty on 
her hand, and he bent low and kissed her royal 
fingers. 

At that moment Antony and Enobarbus en- 
tered the chamber, and seeing this act of gallantry, 
the Roman general exclaimed, ' ' Favours, by Jove 
that thunders!" In jealous rage he asked the 
fellow his name. Thyreus told him, "One that 
but performed the bidding of the fullest man and 
worthiest to have command obeyed." Where- 
upon Antony, in great anger, called his attend- 
ants and ordered them to take hence the Jack and 
whip him. Thyreus protested vehemently, but 
he was carried away by force. Then Antony's 
jealousy burst upon Cleopatra, whom he charged 
with all unfaithfulness to him and to all else. * ' I 
found you as a morsel cold upon dead Caesar's 
trencher, ' ' he said. ' ' Nay, you were a fragment 
of Pompey's, beside what hotter hours unregis- 
tered in vulgar fame you have luxuriously picked 
out." Cleopatra exclaimed against his cruelty, 
and asked wherefore was his rage. Antony re- 
peated his scorn of one who would thus let a knave 
be familiar with her hand, the kingly seal and 
plighter of high hearts. As he stormed on thus 
the servants came back with Thyreus, whom they 
had, they said, soundly whipped. **Get thee 
back to Caesar," said Antony, "and tell him thy 
entertainment. ' ' And when the injured messenger 
had departed, he turned again to Cleopatra, mutter- 
ing, ' ' To flatter Caesar would you mingle eyes 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. ^09 

with one that ties his points ?' ' She charged him 
with undervaluing her, and so wrought upon his 
ruffled temper with her womanly spells and magic 
caresses that he presently grew calm. Then he 
vowed that he would encounter Caesar with his 
force by land, for he and his sword should yet earn 
their chronicler, and he said he would be treble- 
sinewed, hearted, and breathed, and without mercy 
send to darkness all that stopped him. Then, as 
she coaxed him into a more pliant and loving 
humour with words of admiration, he said, at last, 
in his old mood, ''.Come, let's have one other 
gaudy night. Call to me my sad captains; fill our 
bowls once more; let's mock the midnight bell." 
But Enobarbus, who stood by, saw only a cruel fate 
in all this gaiety. He said it was a diminution in 
his master's brain which thus restored his heart, 
for when valour preys on reason it eats the sword 
it fights with; therefore this loyal soldier saw at 
last that he must seek some way to leave his 
reckless master. 

When Caesar received Antony's challenge to 
single combat he was indignant to be treated as 
a boy, and it wounded him sorely to learn that 
his messenger had been whipped. " Let the old 
ruffian know I have many other ways to die, ' ' 
quoth he; and he ordered that his army should be 
prepared on the morrow to fight its last of many 
battles. Antony, on his side, was wrought up to 
a fiercer temper than ever upon learning of Caesar's 
contempt for his challenge, and he too put forth 
IV. — o 1 8* 



2IO TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

his commands for a battle the next day, saying 
he would fight both by sea and land. 

But as Antony set out in the morning with high 
hopes and matchless courage, he was met by the 
heavy news that Enobarbus had gone over to the 
enemy. Antony valued this soldier much, and it 
was a cruel wound to find him a deserter at this 
crisis; but he felt that his own evil fortunes had 
corrupted even this faithful friend, and he forgave 
him nobly by sending after him all the treasure 
that belonged to him. This melted the heart of 
the brave soldier, and he found too late that he 
had made a mistake, for Caesar treated him with 
but little consideration. He felt that he had rather 
die than go into the battle against his beloved 
leader, and, wandering forth in the night, his heart 
was broken with shame and remorse, and he died 
before the fight began. 

When, the next morning, the forces of Caesar 
and Antony met in deadly combat, the battle waged 
long and fiercely; but at last Antony's army won 
the day and drove the foe to his camp. Then, 
in high exultation the valiant Antony, with all his 
old magnificence, marched back to Alexandria and 
greeted Cleopatra like a victorious emperor. ' ' To- 
morrow," quoth he, "before the sun shall see us, 
we'll spill his blood that has to-day escaped." He 
thanked all his soldiers ; and so lifted up was he 
with his success that he took Cleopatra to his iron 
arms, crying, ' ' O thou day o' the world, leap thou, 
attire and all, through proof of harness to my heart!" 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 211 

But the next day Caesar contrived that the fight 
should be waged by sea, and here, as before, Caesar 
prevailed; for the Egyptian augurs found that 
swallows had built in Cleopatra's sails, and they 
looked grimly and alarmed the sailors, who, when 
they were brought into the midst of the battle, 
failed of courage, and again deserted the Roman 
fleet at a fatal moment. 

When Antony saw this, from a hill overlooking 
the sea, he was aroused to a storm of anger against 
the Egyptian queen, whom he accused of selling 
him to the novice, Caesar. *' Betrayed I am," 
he cried. ' ' This false soul of Egypt, like a right 
gypsy, hath beguiled me to the very heart of loss;" 
and as Cleopatra at that moment came up to him, 
he retreated from her, saying, "Ah, thou spell! 
Avaunt!" ** Why is my lord enraged against his 
love?" she asked, piteously; but he vouchsafed no 
answer, merely bidding her vanish, or he would 
give her her deserving and blemisji Caesar's tri- 
umph. * ' Let him take thee, and hoist thee up to 
the shouting plebeians of Rome," he raved on; 
* ' follow his chariot like the greatest spot of all thy 
sex, and let Octavia plough thy visage up with her 
prepared nails!" With each sentence he grew 
more threatening, and at last the queen retreated 
to her women, crying for their help, and saying 
Antony was as mad as Telamon for his shield. 
Charmian then led the way to the Monument, a 
stronghold of the palace, and there Cleopatra 
and her women locked themselves up. 



212 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

When they were thus safely housed, the queen 
sent Mardian to Antony, bidding him say that she 
had slain herself, and that the last word she spoke 
was Antony. She thus thought to stem the tor- 
rent of his rage, and when he was calmer, to win 
back his love. 

By this time Antony had returned to the palace 
at Alexandria, and bringing Eros, his servant, 
with him, he commanded the faithful fellow, who 
had previously sworn to do the deed, to take his 
life; for he said he was such a body as the clouds 
which take fantastic shapes, black vesper's pa- 
geants, now changing from a bear or lion to a 
towered citadel or blue promontory with trees 
upon it, that nod unto the world and mock our 
eyes with air. ' * Here, I am Antony, yet cannot 
hold this visible shape," quoth he. " I made these 
wars for Egypt; and the queen, whose heart I 
thought I had, for she had mine, packed cards 
with Csesar, and false played my glory unto an 
enemy's triumph." Then as Eros began to weep, 
he bid him dry his eyes, for, he said, there were 
still left themselves to end themselves. 

But now Mardian arrived, and, hearing what 
Antony charged against Cleopatra, he made an- 
swer that his mistress was not to blame, for she 
loved Antony, and her fortunes in all things 
mingled with his. * ' Hence, saucy eunuch ; 
peace, ' ' exclaimed the Roman general ; ' * she 
hath betrayed me, and shall die the death." 
Mardian, with show of grief, said what Antony 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 213 

would do was already done unto his hand, and he 
told him pathetically, as he had been bid, that the 
last word the queen spoke was, Antony ! * * Unarm, 
Eros," said the general, sadly; "the long day's 
task is done, and we must sleep." Then he sent 
Mardian and Eros away, and gave himself up to 
grief, and at the last he would have slain himself, 
crying, ''I come, my queen; stay for me: where 
souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand, and 
with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze." 
But his purpose failed, and he called Eros in to 
help him : for he that with his sword had quartered 
the world, and over green Neptune's back made 
cities with his ships, began to lack the courage of a 
woman. Eros drew back from such an office, but 
Antony coaxed him on to fulfil his oath by asking 
if he would like to be gaped at by the mob of 
great Rome in Caesar's triumph. 

At last, after much persuasion, the loyal knave 
said, ' ' Turn from me then that noble countenance ;' ' 
and this Antony did, bidding him at the same time 
to strike. Eros delayed an instant that he might 
say farewell, and when this was done, and Antony 
had again turned from him for the thrust, he cried, 
' ' Farewell, great chief Shall I strike now ?' ' 
* ' Now, Eros, ' ' said Antony, firmly. ' ' Why, there, 
then," cried Eros. '' Thus do I escape the sorrow 
of Antony's death;" and instead of striking his 
master, the devoted soldier himself fell upon his 
sword. 

Antony, being thus taught a lesson in bravery, 



214 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

did not delay to run upon his own sword; but the 
wound he gave himself was not fatal, and he 
rolled upon the floor in pain, calling for the guard 
that they might despatch him, for he groaned that 
he had done his work ill. Upon hearing his mas- 
ter's voice Dercetas, with some of the guard, 
rushed in, but so terrified were they that none 
would help Antony to die; yet Dercetas cruelly 
plucked the sword from the general's wound that 
he might gain credit by showing it to Caesar. 

Then came in Diomedes, a servant of the queen, 
whom Antony also begged to draw his sword and 
give him strokes sufficing for death. This the 
slave avoided doing, and he said that his mistress 
had a prophetic fear of what had now come to 
pass, for when she saw that Antony suspected her 
of going over to Caesar, she had sent him word 
that she was dead, but fearing since how it might 
work, she now revealed the truth. 

Antony bid Diomedes call his guard, and when 
they came in he commanded them to bear him to 
the Monument where Cleopatra was, and sadly he 
added, ' * ' Tis the last service that I shall command 
you." The carriers, wailing out their grief, took 
up their leader with all tenderness, and presently 
brought him before the Monument, where, behold- 
ing him, the queen burst forth into woful cries. 
"O sun, burn the great sphere thou movest in! 
Darkling stand the varying shore o' the world! O, 
Antony ! Antony ! Antony!" and she called to her 
women and to the friends below the window of the 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 215 

Monument for help to lift the wounded warrior up 
to her. "Peace," said Antony, feebly; and then 
with a great heart-breaking groan he murmured, 
" I am dying, Egypt, dying;" but he begged death 
to stay awhile until, of many thousand kisses, he 
laid the poor last upon her lips. Cleopatra called 
to him that she dared not come down lest she be 
taken by Caesar's soldiers, and again she cried 
for help and bid all assist to draw Antony up to 
the window. " O quick, I am gone," he panted; 
and, with a great united effort, they took him in 
their arms and lifted him into the Monument, 
where the queen welcomed him with a thousand 
pitiful caresses. He asked for some wine, and de- 
sired to speak a little. She tried to prevent him, 
but he prayed her to seek her honour and safety 
of Caesar. ' ' They do not go together, ' ' she said. 
* * Gentle, hear me, ' ' he pleaded. * ' Trust none 
of those about Caesar but Proculeius." When 
she had told him that she would trust only her res- 
olution and her hands, he bid her neither lament 
nor sorrow at the miserable change now at an end, 
but to please her thoughts in feeding them with his 
former fortunes wherein he lived, the greatest prince 
of the world, the noblest, who did not now basely 
die nor cowardly put off his helmet to his country- 
man. Then, with a great agony, he gave up his soul. 
Cleopatra's heart was broken with grief, for she 
felt miserably alone without her Roman soldier, and 
knew not where to turn for protection. But still 
queenly in her trouble, she cheered her weeping 



21 6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

women and hailed the guard below with words of 
courage, saying, '* We'll bury him; and then what's 
brave, what's noble, let us do after the high Roman 
fashion, and make death proud to take us." 

Dercetas went upon his shameful errand straight- 
way to Caesar, but when he told the conqueror of 
Antony's death and showed him his sword, Caesar 
ignored the messenger in very grief to hear the 
message. ' ' The breaking of so great a thing 
should make a greater crack," he said. "The 
round world should have shook lions into civil 
streets and citizens to their dens." Dercetas told 
the manner of Antony's death, and Caesar was 
deeply moved to hear it; but he strove to quiet his 
remorse by speaking to his friends of Antony's 
faults, yet his one-time love and admiration for the 
great Roman welled up into his eyes, and he broke 
off abruptly. 

Hereupon a messenger from Cleopatra came into 
the camp saying the queen, his mistress, confined 
in her Monument, desired instruction of Caesar's 
intentions towards her, that she might prepare 
herself to do his will. Caesar bid her have good 
heart, and she should soon know how honourably 
and kindly he meant to act towards her; for, he 
told the messenger, that Caesar could not live to be 
ungentle. The slave humbly saluted the conqueror 
and sped back to his mistress. Caesar then sent 
Proculeius to Cleopatra to say that he intended her 
no shame; and he commanded this officer to give 
her what comforts she desired lest in her greatness, 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 217 

by some fatal stroke, she should defeat him of his 
purpose; for, he said, to take her alive to Rome 
would be an eternal triumph. 

When Proculeius approached the gates of the 
Monument and gave the queen Caesar's greeting, 
she asked him his name; and when she learned it, 
she was well disposed towards the soldier, for it was 
of him that Antony had well spoken. She told 
him that if his master would have a queen for his 
beggar, majesty, to keep decorum, must beg for 
no less than a kingdom, and that if he pleased to 
give her conquered Egypt for her son, she would 
kneel to him with thanks. 

Proculeius prayed her to be of good cheer, for 
she had fallen into princely hands; and, after bandy- 
ing backward and forward many gracious messages, 
the queen said she would gladly look Caesar in the 
face. Proculeius started to convey this wish to his 
master, when Gallus, who accompanied him, se- 
cretly pointed out how easily the queen might be 
surprised in her stronghold. They then procured 
ladders, and, placing them against a window, as- 
cended to where Cleopatra was. Once within, they 
came behind the queen and her attendants, and, 
having made sure of them, they unbarred and 
opened the gates below. Thus, without bloodshed, 
the stronghold was taken, and Proculeius and some 
of his guard kept watch till Caesar came. 

The queen was dismayed with affright and 
anger so to be entrapped, and she drew her dag- 
ger and would have slain herself on the instant 
K 19 



2l8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

had not Proculelus promptly disarmed her. She 
vowed, then, that she would eat no meat; nor 
would she drink, nor sleep, but would ruin that 
mortal house that hemmed her in, do Caesar what 
he could. Rather than be hoisted up to the shout- 
ing varletry in Caesar's triumph she said she would 
make her country's high pyramids her gibbet, and 
be hung in chains. 

Upon this Dolabella, another of Caesar' s officers, 
came up and replaced Proculeius by his master's 
orders; and this Dolabella, though a mighty sol- 
dier, had a soft heart, for he revealed Caesar's pur- 
poses to the queen, telling her that what she feared 
was true, for the conqueror meant to lead her in 
triumph through Rome. 

But now Caesar himself approached the Monu- 
ment with his royal train, and when he was entered 
he asked, * ' Which is the queen of Egypt ?" Cleo- 
patra knelt before him; but he bid her arise, saying 
vshe should not kneel; yet he told her imperiously 
that if she sought, by taking Antony's course, to 
force him to do her a cruelty, she would bereave 
herself of his good purposes and put her children 
to destruction. Having uttered this threat, he said 
he would take his leave; and she answered that he 
might through all the world, for it was his, and she 
and hers, his 'scutcheons and signs of conquest, 
would hang in what place he pleased. She then 
offered him an account of the money, plate, and 
jewels she was possessed of, saying it was valued 
exactly, for only petty things were omitted ; and 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 219 

Seleucus, her treasurer, being summoned, she bid 
him say, upon his peril, that she had reserved noth- 
ing to herself. " Madam," said the honest treas- 
urer, * ' I had rather seal my lips, than, to my peril, 
speak what is not. ' ' The queen was incensed at 
this, and challenged him to reveal what she had 
kept back. He said it was enough to purchase what 
she had made known. Caesar pitied her, a royal 
queen, thus put to shame, and said he approved 
her wisdom in the deed; but she was sore wounded 
thus to be robbed of her majesty, and besought the 
conqueror to behold how pomp was served. Then 
she broke forth in rage against the ingrate treas- 
urer. *'Say, good Caesar," quoth she, "that I 
have reserved some lady trifles, and say I have kept 
some nobler token apart for Livia and Octavia, to 
induce their mediation, must I be betrayed by one 
that I have bred ?' ' and pointing an imperious finger 
to the door, she commanded the treasurer to go 
hence in shame. 

Caesar assured her that all she had should be 
hers to bestow at her pleasure, and bidding her to 
fear nothing, he made his adieu, and went forth 
with all his train. 

Cleopatra instantly called Charmian to her side 
and whispered in her ear some directions, which 
the attendant went forth to fulfil. After a brief 
absence Charmian returned, and the queen then 
bid her women go fetch her best attires, for she 
would array herself as when she sailed for Cydnus 
of old to meet Mark Antony. ' ' Now, noble Char- 



220 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

mian, we'll despatch indeed," she exclaimed; " and 
when thou hast done this errand I'll give thee 
leave to play till doomsday. ' ' 

But there was at this moment a noise without- 
doors, and a guard entered, saying that there was 
a rural fellow at the gate who would not be denied 
the queen's presence, for he brought her a basket 
of figs. Cleopatra commanded the guard to admit 
him, and presently a talkative clown came in to her, 
bearing a basket. She asked him if he had the 
pretty worm of the Nile that kills and gives no pain; 
and, with many precautions against its deadly bite, 
he told her he had, and showed her where it lay 
among the fig-leaves. 

When the queen had received the little asp and 
had dismissed the rustic who brought it, she began 
to put on her regal robes and crown, for she said 
she had immortal longings in her. * ' Methinks I 
hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise 
my noble act; I hear him mock the luck of Caesar;" 
then with a great outburst of love she cried, ' ' Hus- 
band, I come!" and she wished that her courage 
might prove her title to call him by that name. * ' I 
am fire and air, ' ' she said ; ' ' my other elements 
I give to baser life;" then, tenderly kissing her 
women and with a long farewell, she applied the 
asp to her breast, bidding it with its sharp teeth 
untie the intricate knot of life. She passed softly 
into a state like waking-sleep, and, placing another 
asp upon her arm, fell across her bed in a dying 
swoon. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 221 

The guard suspecting that all was not right, and 
fearing that Caesar's victim might slip from their 
grasp, now rushed in; but Charmian bid them speak 
softly and wake her not. She also, now, took up 
one of the asps, and before they could prevent 
her applied it to her arm; so that when at last 
one of the guard had called in Dolabella, both 
queen and maid were dead. ' ' Csesar, thy thoughts 
have proven true," mused Dolabella. ''Thou, 
thyself, art coming to see performed the dreaded 
act which thou so sought' st to hinder." And, on 
the very heels of his officer, the conqueror arrived 
with a host of attendants, who thronged into the 
Monument to behold the beautiful queen dead. 
"Bravest at the last," said Csesar, provoked to 
admiration at this proof of her courage. ' ' She 
foresaw our purposes, and, being royal, took her 
own way." , 

He asked the manner of their deaths, for he did 
not see them bleed, and after diligent search one 
of the guard discovered an aspic's trail, such as 
this little snake leaves on the caves of the Nile, 
upon the fig-leaves, whereat Csesar said it was 
most probable that so the queen and Charmian 
had died, for Cleopatra's physician had told him 
that she pursued infinite conclusions of easy ways 
to die. 

He commanded the attendants to take up the 
dead queen's bed and bear her from the Monu- 
ment, for she should be buried by her Antony; 
and he said truly, that no grave upon the earth 



222 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

might clip within it a pair so famous. * * Such high 
events as these strike those that make them,'* 
quoth he; ** and their story is no less in pity than 
his glory which brought them to be lamented." 
Then he ordered that his army should attend the 
funeral, and afterwards embark for Rome, there 
to make triumph for the victories won in Egypt. 




THE END. 



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